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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/9299-8.txt b/9299-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e7a6511 --- /dev/null +++ b/9299-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4128 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Italian Letters, Vols. I and II, by William Godwin + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Italian Letters, Vols. I and II + or, The History of the Count de St. Julian + +Author: William Godwin + +Posting Date: August 7, 2012 [EBook #9299] +Release Date: November, 2005 +First Posted: September 18, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ITALIAN LETTERS, VOLS. I AND II *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David Widger and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + + +ITALIAN LETTERS + +Or + +The History of the Count de St. Julian + +By + +WILLIAM GODWIN + +Edited and with an Introduction by BURTON R. POLLIN [Blank Page] +_Italian Letters_ + +_Volume I_ + + + + +Letter I + + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Palermo_ + +My dear lord, + +It is not in conformity to those modes which fashion prescribes, that I +am desirous to express to you my most sincere condolence upon the death +of your worthy father. I know too well the temper of my Rinaldo to +imagine, that his accession to a splendid fortune and a venerable title +can fill his heart with levity, or make him forget the obligations he +owed to so generous and indulgent a parent. It is not the form of sorrow +that clouds his countenance. I see the honest tear of unaffected grief +starting from his eye. It is not the voice of flattery, that can render +him callous to the most virtuous and respectable feelings that can +inform the human breast. + +I remember, my lord, with the most unmingled pleasure, how fondly +you used to dwell upon those instances of paternal kindness that you +experienced almost before you knew yourself. I have heard you describe +with how benevolent an anxiety the instructions of a father were always +communicated, and with what rapture he dwelt upon the early discoveries +of that elevated and generous character, by which my friend is so +eminently distinguished. Never did the noble marquis refuse a single +request of this son, or frustrate one of the wishes of his heart. His +last prayers were offered for your prosperity, and the only thing that +made him regret the stroke of death, was the anguish he felt at parting +with a beloved child, upon whom all his hopes were built, and in whom +all his wishes centred. + +Forgive me, my friend, that I employ the liberty of that intimacy with +which you have honoured me, in reminding you of circumstances, which I +am not less sure that you revolve with a melancholy pleasure, than I am +desirous that they should live for ever in your remembrance. That +sweet susceptibility of soul which is cultivated by these affectionate +recollections, is the very soil in which virtue delights to spring. +Forgive me, if I sometimes assume the character of a Mentor. I would not +be so grave, if the love I bear you could dispense with less. + +The breast of my Rinaldo swells with a thousand virtuous sentiments. I +am conscious of this, and I will not disgrace the confidence I ought to +place in you. But your friend cannot but be also sensible, that you are +full of the ardour of youth, that you are generous and unsuspecting, and +that the happy gaiety of your disposition sometimes engages you with +associates, that would abuse your confidence and betray your honour. + +Remember, my dear lord, that you have the reputation of a long list of +ancestors to sustain. Your house has been the support of the throne, +and the boast of Italy. You are not placed in an obscure station, +where little would be expected from you, and little would be the +disappointment, though you should act in an imprudent or a vicious +manner. The antiquity of your house fixes the eyes of your countrymen +upon you. Your accession at so early a period to its honours and its +emoluments, renders your situation particularly critical. + +But if your situation be critical, you have also many advantages, to +balance the temptations you may be called to encounter. Heaven has +blessed you with an understanding solid, judicious, and penetrating. You +cannot long be made the dupe of artifice, you are not to be misled by +the sophistry of vice. But you have received from the hands of the +munificent creator a much more valuable gift than even this, a manly and +a generous mind. I have been witness to many such benevolent acts of my +Rinaldo as have made my fond heart overflow with rapture. I have traced +his goodness to its hiding place. I have discovered instances of his +tenderness and charity, that were intended to be invisible to every +human eye. + +I am fully satisfied that the marquis of Pescara can never rank among +the votaries of vice and folly. It is not against the greater instances +of criminality that I wish to guard you. I am not apprehensive of a +sudden and a total degeneracy. But remember, my lord, you will, from +your situation, be inevitably surrounded with flatterers. You are +naturally fond of commendation. Do not let this generous instinct be the +means of disgracing you. You will have many servile parasites, who will +endeavour, by inuring you to scenes of luxury and dissipation, to divert +your charity from its noblest and its truest ends, into the means of +supporting them in their fawning dependence. Naples is not destitute of +a set of young noblemen, the disgrace of the titles they wear, who would +be too happy to seduce the representative of the marquisses of Pescara +into an imitation of their vices, and to screen their follies under so +brilliant and conspicuous an example. + +My lord, there is no misfortune that I more sincerely regret than the +loss of your society. I know not how it is, and I would willingly +attribute it to the improper fastidiousness of my disposition, that +I can find few characters in the university of Palermo, capable of +interesting my heart. With my Rinaldo I was early, and have been long +united; and I trust, that no force, but that of death, will be able to +dissolve the ties that bind us. Wherever you are, the heart of your St. +Julian is with you. Wherever you go, his best wishes accompany you. If +in this letter, I have assumed an unbecoming austerity, your lordship +will believe that it is the genuine effusion of anxiety and friendship, +and will pardon me. It is not that I am more exempt from youthful folly +than others. Born with a heart too susceptible for my peace, I am +continually guilty of irregularities, that I immediately wish, but am +unable to retract. But friendship, in however frail a bosom she resides, +cannot permit her own follies to dispense her from guarding those she +loves against committing their characters. + + + +Letter II + +_The Answer_ + +_Naples_ + +It is not necessary for me to assure my St. Julian, that I really felt +those sentiments of filial sorrow which he ascribes to me. Never did any +son sustain the loss of so indulgent a father. I have nothing by which +to remember him, but acts of goodness and favour; not one hour of +peevishness, not one instance of severity. Over all my youthful follies +he cast the veil of kindness. All my imaginary wants received a prompt +supply. Every promise of spirit and sensibility I was supposed to +discover, was cherished with an anxious and unremitting care. + +But such as he was to me, he was, in a less degree, to all his +domestics, and all his dependents. You can scarcely imagine what a +moving picture my palace--and must I call it mine? presented, upon my +first arrival. The old steward, and the grey-headed lacqueys endeavoured +to assume a look of complacency, but their recent grief appeared through +their unpractised hypocrisy. "Health to our young master! Long life," +cried they, with a broken and tremulous accent, "to the marquis of +Pescara!" You will readily believe, that I made haste to free them from +their restraint, and to assure them that the more they lamented my ever +honoured father, the more they would endear themselves to me. Their +looks thanked me, they clasped their hands with delight, and were +silent. + +The next morning as soon as I appeared, I perceived, as I passed along, +a whole crowd of people plainly, but decently habited, in the hall. +"Who are they?" said I. "I endeavoured to keep them off," said the old +steward, "but they would not be hindered. They said they were sure that +the young marquis would not bely the bounty of their old master, upon +which they had so long depended for the conveniences and comfort of +life." "And they shall not be kept off," said I; and advancing towards +them, I endeavoured to convince them, that, however unworthy of his +succession, I would endeavour to keep alive the spirit of their +benefactor, and would leave them as little reason as possible to regret +his loss. Oh! my St. Julian, who but must mourn so excellent a parent, +so amiable, so incomparable a man! + +But you talked to me of the flattering change in my situation. And shall +I confess to you the truth? I find nothing in it that flatters, nothing +that pleases me. I am told my revenues are more extensive. But what is +that to me? They were before sufficiently ample, and I had but to wish +at any time, in order to have them increased. But I am removed to the +metropolis of the kingdom, to the city in which the court of my master +resides, to the seat of elegance and pleasure. And yet, amidst all that +it offers, I sigh for the rural haunts of Palermo, its pleasant hills, +its fruitful vales, its simplicity and innocence. I sit down to a more +sumptuous table, I am surrounded with a more numerous train of servants +and dependents. But this comes not home to the heart of your Rinaldo. +I look in vain through all the circle for an equal and a friend. It is +true, when I repair to the levee of my prince, I behold many equals; but +they are strangers to me, their faces are dressed in studied smiles, +they appear all suppleness, complaisance and courtliness. A countenance, +fraught with art, and that carries nothing of the soul in it, is +uninteresting, and even forbidding in my eye. + +Oh! how long shall I be separated from my St. Julian? I am almost angry +with you for apologizing for your kind monitions and generous advice. If +my breast glows with any noble sentiments, it is to your friendship I +ascribe them. If I have avoided any of the rocks upon which heedless +youth is apt to split, yours is all the honour, though mine be the +advantage. More than one instance do I recollect with unfeigned +gratitude, in which I had passed the threshold of error, in which I had +already set my foot upon the edge of the precipice, and was reclaimed by +your care. But what temptations could the simple Palermo offer, compared +with the rich, the luxurious, and dissipated court of Naples? + +And upon this scene I am cast without a friend. My honoured father +indeed could not have been my companion, but his advice might have been +useful to me in a thousand instances. My St. Julian is at a distance +that my heart yearns to think of. Volcanos burn, and cataracts roar +between us. With caution then will I endeavour to tread the giddy +circle. Since I must, however unprepared, be my own master, I will +endeavour to be collected, sober, and determined. + +One expedient I have thought of, which I hope will be of service to me +in the new scene upon which I am to enter. I will think how my friend +would have acted, I will think that his eye is upon me, and I will make +it a law to myself to confess all my faults and follies to you. As you +have indulged me with your correspondence, you will allow me, I doubt +not, in this liberty, and will favour me from time to time with those +honest and unbiassed remarks upon my conduct, which it is consonant with +your character to make. + + + + +Letter III + +_The Same to the Same_ + +_Naples_ + +Since I wrote last to my dear count, I have been somewhat more in +public, and have engaged a little in the societies of this city. You can +scarcely imagine, my friend, how different the young gentlemen of Naples +are from my former associates in the university. You would hardly +suppose them of the same species. In Palermo, almost every man was cold, +uncivil and inattentive; and seemed to have no other purpose in view +than his own pleasure and accommodation. At Naples they are all good +nature and friendship. Your wishes, before you have time to express +them, are forestalled by the politeness of your companions, and each +seems to prefer the convenience and happiness of another to his own. + +With one young nobleman I am particularly pleased, and have chosen him +from the rest as my most intimate associate. It is the marquis of San +Severino. I shall endeavour by his friendship, as well as I can, to +make up to myself the loss of my St. Julian, of whose society I am +irremediably deprived. He does not indeed possess your abilities, he +has not the same masculine understanding, and the same delightful +imagination. But he supplies the place of these by an uninterrupted flow +of good humour. All his passions seem to be disinterested, and it would +do violence to every sentiment of his heart to be the author of a +moment's pain to another. + +Do not however imagine, my dear count, that my partiality to this +amiable young nobleman renders me insensible to the defects of his +character. Though his temper be all sweetness and gentleness, his views +are not the most extensive. He considers much more the present ease of +those about him, than their future happiness. He has not harshness, he +has not firmness enough in his character, shall I call it? to refuse +almost any request, however injudicious. He is therefore often led into +improper situations, and his reputation frequently suffers in a manner +that I am persuaded his heart does not deserve. + +The person of San Severino is tall, elegant and graceful. His manners +are singularly polite, and uniformly unembarassed. His voice is +melodious, and he is eminently endowed by nature with the gift of +eloquence. A person of your penetration will therefore readily imagine, +that his society is courted by the fair. His propensity to the tender +passion appears to have been very great, and he of consequence lays +himself out in a gallantry that I can by no means approve. + +Such, my dear count, appears to me to be the genuine and impartial +character of my new friend. His good nature, his benevolence, and the +pliableness of his disposition may surely be allowed to compensate for +many defects. He can indeed by no means supply the place of my St. +Julian. I cannot look up to him as a guide, and I believe I shall never +be weak enough to ask his advice in the conduct of my life. + +But do not imagine, my dear lord, that I shall be in much danger of +being misled by him into criminal irregularities. I feel a firmness of +resolution, and an ardour in the cause of virtue, that will, I trust, +be abundantly sufficient to set these poor temptations at defiance. +The world, before I entered it, appeared to me more formidable than it +really is. I had filled it with the bugbears of a wild imagination. +I had supposed that mankind made it their business to prey upon each +other. Pardon me, my amiable friend, if I take the liberty to say, that +my St. Julian was more suspicious than he needed to have been, when he +supposed that Naples could deprive me of the simplicity and innocence +that grew up in my breast under his fostering hand at Palermo. + + + + +Letter IV + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Palermo_ + +I rejoice with you sincerely upon the pleasures you begin to find in the +city of Naples. May all the days of my Rinaldo be happy, and all his +paths be strewed with flowers! It would have been truly to be lamented, +that melancholy should have preyed upon a person so young and so +distinguished by fortune, or that you should have sighed amidst all the +magnificence of Naples for the uncultivated plainness of Palermo. So +long as I reside here, your absence will constantly make me feel an +uneasy void, but it is my earnest wish that not a particle of that +uneasiness may reach my friend. + +Surely, my dear marquis, there are few correspondents so young as +myself, and who address a personage so distinguished as you, that deal +with so much honest simplicity, and devote so large a share of their +communications to the forbidding seriousness of advice. But you have +accepted the first effort of my friendship with generosity and candour, +and you will, I doubt not, continue to behold my sincerity with a +favourable eye. + +Shall I venture to say that I am sorry you have commenced so intimate a +connexion with the marquis of San Severino? Even the character of him +with which you have favoured me, represents him to my wary sight as too +agreeable not to be dangerous. But I have heard of him from others, a +much more unpleasing account. + +Alas, my friend, under how fair an outside are the most pernicious +principles often concealed! Your honest heart would not suspect, that an +appearance of politeness frequently covers the most rooted selfishness. +The man who is all gentleness and compliance abroad, is often a tyrant +among his domestics. The attendants upon a court put on their faces +as they put on their clothes. And it is only after a very long +acquaintance, after having observed them in their most unguarded hours, +that you can make the smallest discovery of their real characters. +Remember, my dear Rinaldo, the maxim of the incomparable philosopher of +Geneva: "Man is not naturally amiable." If the human character shews +less pleasing and attractive in the obscurity of retreat, and among the +unfinished personages of a college, believe me, the natives of a court +are not a whit more disinterested, or have more of the reality of +friendship. The true difference is, that the one wears a disguise, and +the other appear as they are. + +I do not mean however to impute all the faults I have mentioned to the +marquis of San Severino. He is probably in the vulgar sense of the word +good-natured. As you have already expressed it, he knows not how to +refuse the requests, or contradict the present inclinations of those +with whom he is connected. You say rightly that his gallantries are such +as you can by no means approve. He is, if I am not greatly misinformed, +in the utmost degree loose and debauched in his principles. The greater +part of his time is spent in the haunts of intemperance, and under the +roofs of the courtezan. I am afraid indeed he has gone farther than +this, and that he has not scrupled to ruin innocence, and practise all +the arts of seduction. + +There is, my dear Rinaldo, a species of careless and youthful vice, that +assumes the appearance of gentleness, and wears the garb of generosity. +It even pretends to the name of virtue. But it casts down all the sacred +barriers of religion. It laughs to scorn that suspicious vigilance, that +trembling sensibility, that is the very characteristic of virtue. It +represents those faults of which a man may be guilty without +malignity, as innocent. And it endeavours to appropriate to itself +all comprehensiveness of view, all true fortitude, and all liberal +generosity. + +Believe me, my friend, this is the enemy from which you have most to +fear. It is not barefaced degeneracy that can seduce you. She must +be introduced under a specious name, she must disguise herself like +something that nature taught us to approve, and she must steal away the +heart at unawares. + + + +Letter V + + +_The Answer_ + +_Naples_ + +I can never sufficiently acknowledge the friendship that appears in +every line of your obliging epistles. Even where your attachment is +rouzed without a sufficient cause, it is only upon that account the more +conspicuous. + +I took the liberty, my dear count, immediately after receiving your +last, to come to an explanation with San Severino. I mentioned to him +the circumstances in your letter, as affairs that had been casually +hinted to me. I told him, that I was persuaded he would excuse my +freedom, as I was certain there was some misinformation, and I could not +omit the opportunity of putting it in his power to justify himself. The +marquis expressed the utmost astonishment, and vowed by all that was +sacred, that he was innocent of the most important part of the charge. +He told me, that it was his ill fortune, and he supposed he was not +singular, to have enemies, that made it their business to misrepresent +every circumstance of his conduct. He had been calumniated, cruelly +calumniated, and could he discover the author of the aspersion, he would +vindicate his honour with his sword. In fine, he explained the whole +business in such a manner, as, though I could not entirely approve, yet +evinced it to be by no means subversive of the general amiableness of +his character. How deplorable is the situation in which we are placed, +when even the generous and candid temper of my St. Julian, can be +induced to think of a young nobleman in a light he does not deserve, and +to impute to him basenesses from which his heart is free! + +Soon after this interview I was introduced by my new friend into a +society of a more mixed and equivocal kind than I had yet seen. Do not +however impute to the marquis a surprize of which he was not guilty. He +fairly stated to me of what persons the company was to be composed; and +idle curiosity, and perhaps a particular gaiety of humour, under the +influence of which I then was, induced me to accept of his invitation. +If I did wrong, my dear count, blame me, and blame me without reserve. +But if I may judge from the disposition in which I left this house, I +only derived a new reinforcement to those resolutions, with which your +conversation and example first inspired me. + +It was in the evening, after the opera. The company was composed of +several of our young nobility, and an equal number of female performers +and other ladies of the same reputation. They almost immediately broke +into _tête-à-têtes_, and of consequence one of the ladies addressed +herself particularly to me. The vulgar familiarity of her manners, +and the undisguised libidinousness of her conversation, I must own, +disgusted me. Though I do not pretend to be devoid of the passions +incident to my age, I was not at all pleased with the addresses of this +female. As my companions were more active in the choice of an associate, +it may perhaps be only candid to own, that she was not the most pleasing +in the circle. The consciousness of the eyes of the whole party +embarrassed me. And the aukward attempts I made to detach myself from +my enamorata, as they proved unsuccessful, so they served to excite a +general smile. San Severino however presently perceived my situation, +and observing that I was by no means satisfied with my fortune, he with +the utmost politeness broke away from the company, and attended me home. + +How is it my dear friend that vice, whose property it should seem to +be, to hesitate and to tremble, should be able to assume this air of +confidence and composure? How is it that innocence, that surely should +always triumph, is thus liable to all the confusion and perplexity of +guilt? Why is virtue chosen, but because she is the parent of honour, +because she enables a man to look in the face the aspersions of calumny, +and to remain firm and undejected, amidst whatever fortune has of +adverse and capricious? And are these advantages merely imaginary? Are +composure and self-approbation common to the upright and the wicked? Or +do those who are most hardened, really possess the superiority; and can +conscious guilt bid defiance to shame, while rectitude is continually +liable to hide her head in confusion? + + + + +Letter VI + +_The Same to the Same_ + + +_Naples_ + +You will recollect, my St. Julian, that I promised to confess to you my +faults and my follies, and to take you for the umpire and director of +my conduct. Perhaps I have done wrong. Perhaps, though unconscious of +error, I am some how or other misled, and need your faithful hand to +lead me back again to the road of integrity. + +Why is it that I feel a reluctance to state to you the whole of my +conduct? It is a sensation to which I have hitherto been a stranger, and +in spite of me, it obliges me to mistrust myself. But I have discovered +the reason. It is, that educated in solitude, and immured in the walls +of a college, we had not learned to make allowances for the situations +and the passions of mankind. You and I, my dear count, have long agreed, +that the morality of priests is to be distrusted: that it is too often +founded upon sinister views and private interest: that it has none +of that comprehension of thought, that manly enthusiasm, which is +characteristic of the genuine moral philosopher. What have penances and +pilgrimages, what have beads and crosses, vows made in opposition to +every instinct of nature, and an obedience subversive of the original +independency of the human mind, to do with virtue? + +Thus far, my amiable friend, you advanced, but yet I am afraid you have +not advanced far enough. I am told there is an honesty and an honour, +that preserves a man's character free from impeachment, which is +perfectly separate from that sublime goodness that you and I have always +admired. But to this sentiment I am by no means reconciled. To speak +more immediately to the subject I intended. + +What can be more justifiable, or reasonable, than a conformity to the +original propensities of our nature? It is true, these propensities may +by an undue cultivation be so much increased, as to be productive of +the most extensive mischief. The man who, for the sake of indulging +his corporeal appetites, neglects every valuable pursuit, and every +important avocation, cannot be too warmly censured. But it is no less +true, that the passion of the sexes for each other, exists in the most +innocent and uncorrupted heart. Can it then be reasonable to condemn +such a moderate indulgence of this passion, as interrupts no employment, +and impedes no pursuit? This indulgence, in the present civilized +state of society, requires no infringement of order, no depravation of +character. The legislators of every country, whose wisdom may surely +be considered as somewhat greater than that of its priests, have +judiciously overlooked this imagined irregularity, and amongst all the +penalties which they have ambitiously, and too often without either +sentiment or humanity, heaped together against the offences of society, +have suffered this to pass unnoticed. Why should we be more harsh and +rigorous than they? It is inconsistent with all logic and all candour, +to argue against the use of any thing from its abuse. Of what mischief +can the moderate gratification of this appetite be the source? It does +not indeed romantically seek to reclaim a class of women, whom every +sober man acknowledges to be irreclaimable. But with that benevolence +that is congenial to a comprehensive mind, it pities them with all their +errors, and it contributes to preserve them from misery, distress, and +famine. + +From what I have now said, I believe you will have already suspected of +what nature are those particulars in my conduct, which I set out with +an intention of confessing. Whatever may be my merit or demerit in this +instance, I will not hide from you that the marquis of San Severino was +the original cause of what I have done. You are already sufficiently +acquainted with the freedom of his sentiments upon this subject. He is a +professed devotee of the sex, and he suffers this passion to engross a +much larger share of his time than I can by any means approve. Incited +by his exhortations, I have in some measure imitated his conduct, at the +same time that I have endeavoured not to fall into the same excesses. + +But I believe that I shall treat you more regularly in the manner of a +confessor, and render you more master of the subject, by relating to you +the steps by which I have been led to act and to justify, that which I +formerly used to condemn. I have already told you, how aukward I felt my +situation in the first society of the gayer kind, into which my friend +introduced me. Though he politely freed me from my present embarassment, +he could not help rallying me upon the rustic appearance I made. He +apologized for the ill fortune I had experienced, and promised to +introduce me to a mistress beautiful as the day, and sprightly and +ingenious as Sappho herself. + +What could I do? I was unwilling to break with the most amiable +companion I had found in the city of Naples. I was staggered with his +reasonings and his eloquence. Shall I acknowledge the truth? I was +mortified at the singular and uncouth figure I had made. I felt myself +actuated with a social sympathy, that made me wish to resemble those of +my own rank and age, in any thing that was not seriously criminal. I was +involuntarily incited by the warm description San Severino gave me of +the beauty and attractions of the lady he recommended. Must we not +confess, my St. Julian, setting the nature of the business quite out +of the question, that there was something highly disinterested in the +behaviour of the marquis upon this occasion? He left his companions and +his pleasures, to accommodate himself to my weakness. He managed his own +character so little, as to undertake to recommend to me a female friend. +And he seems to have neglected the interest of his own pleasures +entirely, in order to introduce me to a woman, inferior in +accomplishments to none of her sex. + + + + +Letter VII + + +_The Same to the Same_ + +_Naples_ + +Could I ever have imagined, my dear count, that in so short a time the +correspondence between us would have been so much neglected? I have +yet received no answer to my last letter, upon a subject particularly +interesting, and in which I had some reason to fear your disapprobation. +My St. Julian lives in the obscurity of retreat, and in the solitude +most favourable to literary pursuits. What avocations can have called +off his attention from the interests of his friend? May I be permitted +however to draw one conclusion from your silence, that you do not +consider my situation as critical and alarming? That although you join +the prudent severity of a monitor with the candid partiality of a +friend, you yet view my faults in a venial light, and are disposed to +draw over them the veil of indulgence? + +I might perhaps deduce a fairer apology for the silence on my part from +my new situation, the avocations incident to my rank and fortune, and +the pleasures that abound in a city and a court so celebrated as that +of Naples. But I will not attempt an apology. The novelty of these +circumstances have diverted my attention more than they ought from the +companion of my studies and the friend of my youth, but I trust I shall +never forget him. I have met with companions more gay, and consorts more +obsequious, but I have never found a character so worthy, and a friend +so sincere. + +Since I last addressed my St. Julian, I have been engaged in various +scenes both of a pleasurable and a serious kind. I think I am guilty of +no undue partiality to my own conduct when I assure you, that I have +embarked in the lighter pursuits of associates of my own age without +having at any time forgotten what was due to the lustre of my ancestry, +and the favour of my sovereign. I have not injured my reputation. I +have mingled business and pleasure, so as not to sacrifice that which +occupies the first place, to that which holds only the second. + +I trust that my St. Julian knows me too well, to suppose that I would +separate philosophy and practice, reason and action from each other. It +was by the instructions of my friend, that I learned to rise superior +to the power of prejudice, to reject no truth because it was novel, to +refuse my ear to no arguments because they were not backed by pompous +and venerable names. In pursuance of this system, I have ventured in +my last to suggest some reasons in favour of a moderate indulgence of +youthful pleasures. Perhaps however my dear count will think, that I am +going beyond what even these reasons would authorize in the instance I +am about to relate. + +You are not probably to be informed that there are a certain kind of +necessary people, dependents upon such young noblemen as San Severino +and his friends, upon whom the world has bestowed the denomination +of pimps. One of these gentlemen seemed of late to feel a particular +partiality to myself. He endeavoured by several little instances of +officiousness to become useful to me. At length he told me of a young +person extremely beautiful and innocent, whose first favours he believed +he could engage to procure in my behalf. + +At that idea I started. "And do you think, my good friend," said I, +"because you are acquainted with my having indulged to some of those +pleasures inseparable from my age, that I would presume to ruin +innocence, and be the means of bringing upon a young person so much +remorse and such an unhappy way of life, as must be the inevitable +consequence of a step of this kind?" "My lord," replied the parasite, "I +do not pretend to be any great casuist in these matters. His honour of +San Severino does I know seldom give way to scruples of this kind. But +in the instance I have mentioned there are several things to be said. +The mother of the lady, who formerly moved in a higher sphere than she +does at present, never maintained a very formidable character. This +daughter is the fruit of her indiscriminate amours, and though I am +perfectly satisfied she has not yet been blown upon by the breath of +a mortal, her education has been such as to prepare her to follow the +venerable example of her mother. Your lordship therefore sees that in +this case, you will wrong no parent, and seduce no child, that you will +merely gather an harvest already ripe, and which will be infallibly +reaped by the first comer." + +Though the reasons of my convenient gentleman made me hesitate, they +by no means determined me to the execution of the plan he proposed. He +immediately perceived the situation of my mind, and hinted that he +might at least have the honour of placing me in a certain church, that +afternoon at vespers, where I might have an opportunity of seeing, and +perhaps conversing a little with the lady. To this scheme I assented. + +She appeared not more than sixteen years of age. Her person was small, +but her form was delicate. Her auburn tresses hung about her neck +in great profusion. Her eyes sparkled with vivacity, and even with +intelligence. Her dress was elegant and graceful, but not gaudy. It +was impossible that such a figure should not have had some tendency to +captivate me. Having contemplated her sufficiently at a distance, I +approached nearer. + +The little gipsey turned up her eyes askance, and endeavoured to take a +sly survey of me as I advanced. I accosted her. Her behaviour was full +of that charming hesitation which is uniformly the offspring of youth +and inexperience. She received me with a pretty complaisance, but at +the same time blushed and appeared fluttered she knew not why. I +involuntarily advanced my hand towards her, and she gave me hers with a +kind of unreflecting frankness. There was a good sense and a simplicity +united in her appearance, and the few words she uttered, that pleased +and even affected me. + +Such, my dear friend, is the present state of my amour. I confess I have +frequently considered seduction in an odious light. But here I think few +or none of the objections against it have place. The mellow fruit is +ready to drop from the tree, and seems to solicit some friendly hand to +gather it. + + + + +Letter VIII + + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Palermo_ + +My dear lord, + +Avocations of no agreeable kind, and with which it probably will not +be long before you are sufficiently acquainted, have of late entirely +engrossed me. You will readily believe, that they were concerns of no +small importance, that hindered me from a proper acknowledgment and +attention to the communications of my friend. But I will dismiss my own +affairs for the present, and make a few of the observations to which you +invite me upon the contents of your letters. + +Alas! my Rinaldo is so entirely changed since we used to wander together +among the groves and vallies, and along the banks of that stream which I +now see from my window, that I scarcely know him for the same. Where +is that simplicity, where that undisguised attachment to virtue and +integrity, where that unaccommodating system of moral truth, that used +to live in the bosom of my friend? All the lines of his character seem +to suffer an incessant decay. Shall I fear that the time is hastening +when that sublime and generous spirit shall no longer be distinguished +from the San Severinos, the men of gaiety and pleasure of the age? And +can I look back upon this alteration, and apprehensions thus excited, +and say, "all this has taken place in six poor months?" + +Do not imagine, my dear lord, that I am that severe monitor, that rigid +censor, that would give up his friend for every fault, that knows not +how to make any allowance for the heedless levity of youth. I can +readily suppose a man with the purest heart and most untainted +principles, drawn aside into temporary error. Occasion, opportunity, +example, an accidental dissipation of mind are inlets to vice, against +which perhaps it is not in humanity to be always guarded. + +Confidence, my dear friend, unsuspicious confidence, is the first source +of error. In favour of the presumptuous man, who wantonly incurs danger +and braves temptation, heaven will not interest itself. There can be +no mistake more destitute of foundation, than that which supposes man +exempt from frailty. + +Had not my Rinaldo, trusting too much to his own strength, laid himself +open to dangerous associates, he would now have contemplated those +actions he has been taught to excuse, with disgust and horror. His own +heart would never have taught him that commodious morality he has been +induced to patronize. But he feared them not. He felt, as he assured me, +that firmness of resolution, and ardour of virtue, that might set +these temptations at defiance. Be ingenuous, my friend. Look back, and +acknowledge your mistake. Look back, and acknowledge, that to the purest +and most blameless mind indiscriminate communications are dangerous. + +I had much rather my dear marquis had once deviated from that line of +conduct he had marked out to himself, than that he had undertaken to +defend the deviation, and exerted himself to unlearn principles that did +him honour. You profess to believe that indulgences of this sort are +unavoidable, and the temptations to them irresistible. And is man then +reduced to a par with the brutes? Is there a single passion of the soul, +that does not then cease to be blameless, when it is no longer directed +and restrained by the dictates of reason? A thousand considerations of +health, of interest, of character, respecting ourselves; and of benefit +and inconvenience to society, will be taken into the estimate by the +wise and the good man. + +But these considerations are superseded by that which cannot be +counteracted. And does not the reciprocal power of motives depend upon +the strength and vivacity with which they are exhibited to the mind? The +presence of a superior would at any time restrain us from an unbecoming +action. The sense of a decided interest, the apprehension of a certain, +and very considerable detriment, would deprive the most flattering +temptation of all its blandishments. And are not this sense and this +apprehension in a great degree in the power of every man? + +Tell me, my friend; Shall that action which in a woman is the utter +extinction of all honour, be in a man entirely faultless and innocent? +But the world is not quite so unjust. Such a conduct even in our sex +tends to the diminution of character, is considered in the circle of the +venerable and the virtuous as a subject of shame and concealment, and +if persisted in, causes a person universally to be considered, as alike +unfit for every arduous pursuit, and every sublime undertaking. + +Is it possible indeed, that the society of persons in the lowest state +of profligacy, can be desirable for a man of family, for one who +pretends to honour and integrity? Is it possible that they should not +have some tendency to pollute his ideas, to debase his sentiments, and +to reduce him to the same rank with themselves? If the women you have +described irreclaimable, let it at least be remembered that your +conduct tends to shut up against them the door of reformation and +return, and forces upon them a mode of subsistence which they might not +voluntarily have chosen. + +Thus much for your first letter. Your second calls me to a subject +of greater seriousness and magnitude. My Rinaldo makes hasty strides +indeed! Scarcely embarked in licentious and libertine principles, +he seems to look forward to the last consummation of the debauchee. +Seduction, my dear lord, is an action that will yield in horror to no +crime that ever sprang up in the degenerate breast. + +But it seems, the action you propose to yourself is divested of some +of the aggravations of seduction. I will acknowledge it. Had my friend +received this crime into his bosom in all its deformity, dear as he is +to me, I would have thrown him from my heart with detestation. Yes, I am +firmly persuaded, that the man who perpetrates it, however specious he +may appear, was never conscious to one generous sentiment, never knew +the meaning of rectitude and integrity, but was at all times wrapped up +in that narrow selfishness, that torpid insensibility, that would not +disgrace a fiend. + +He undermines innocence surrounded with all her guard of ingenuous +feelings and virtuous principles. He forces from her station a +defenceless woman, who, without his malignant interposition, might have +filled it with honour and happiness. He heaps up disgrace and misery +upon a family that never gave him provocation, and perhaps brings down +the grey hairs of the heads of it to the grave with calamity. + +Of all hypocrites this man is the most consummate and the most odious. +He dresses his countenance in smiles, while his invention teems with +havoc and ruin. He pretends the sincerest good will without feeling one +sentiment of disinterested and honest affection. He feigns the warmest +attachment that he may the more securely destroy. + +This, my friend, is not the crime of an instant, an action into which +he is hurried by unexpected temptation, and the momentary violence of +passion. He goes about it with deliberation. He lays his plans with all +the subtlety of a Machiavel, and all the flagitiousness of a Borgia. +He executes them gradually from day to day, and from week to week. And +during all this time he dwells upon the luxurious idea, he riots in the +misery he hopes to create. He will tell you he loves. Yes, he loves, as +the hawk loves the harmless dove, as the tyger loves the trembling kid. +And is this the man in whose favour I should ever have been weak enough +to entertain a partiality? I would tear him from my bosom like an adder. +I would crush him like a serpent. + +But your case has not the same aggravations. Here is no father who +prizes the honour of his family more than life, and whose heart is bound +up in the virtue of his only child. Here is no mother a stranger to +disgrace, and who with unremitted vigilance had fought to guard every +avenue to the destruction of her daughter. Even the victim herself has +never learned the beauty of virgin purity, and does not know the value +of that she is about to lose. + +And yet, my Rinaldo, after all these deductions, there is something in +the story of this uninstructed little innocent, even as stated by him +who is ready to destroy her, that greatly interests my wishes in her +favour. She does not know it seems all the calamity of the fate that is +impending over her. She is blindfolded for destruction. She plays with +her ruin, and views with a thoughtless and a partial eye the murderer of +her virtue and her happiness. + + _And, oh, poor helpless nightingale, thought I, + How sweet thou sing'st, how near the deadly snare!_ + +But if you do not accept the proposal that is made you, it is but too +probable what her fate will be, and how soon the event will take +place. And is this an excuse for my friend to offer? Thousands are the +iniquities that are now upon the verge of action. An imagination the +most fertile in horror can scarcely conceive the crimes that will +probably be committed. And shall I therefore with malignant industry +forestal the villain in all his black designs? You do not mean it. + +Permit me yet to suggest one motive more. A connection like that you +have proposed to yourself, might probably make you a father. Of all +the charities incident to the human character, those of a parent are +abundantly the most exquisite and venerable. And can a man of the +smallest sensibility think with calmness, of bringing children into the +world to be the heirs of shame? When he gives them life he entails upon +them dishonour. The father that should look upon them with joy, as a +benefit conferred upon society, and the support of his declining age, +regards them with coldness and alienation. The mother who should +consider them as her boast and her honour, cannot behold them without +opening anew all the sluices of remorse, cannot own them without a +blush. + +This, my Rinaldo, is what you might do, and in doing it you would +perpetrate an action that would occasion to an ingenuous mind an eternal +regret. But there is another thing also that you might do, and that a +mind, indefatigable in the pursuit of rectitude, as was once that of my +friend, would not need to have suggested to it by another. Instead +of treasuring up remorse, instead of preparing for an innocent and +unsuspecting victim a life of misery and shame, you might redeem her +from impending destruction. You might obtain for her an honest and +industrious partner, and enable her to acquire the character of a +virtuous matron, and a respectable mother of a family. + +Reflect for a moment, my dear marquis, on this proposal, which I hope +is yet in your power. Think you, that conscious rectitude, that the +exultation of your heart when you recollect the temptation you have +escaped, and the noble turn you have given it, will not infinitely +overbalance the sordid and fleeting pleasure you are able to attain? +Imagine to yourself that you see her offspring growing up under the care +of a blameless mother, and coming forward to thank you for the benefit +you bestowed upon them before they had a being. Is not this an object +over which a heart susceptible to one manly feeling may reasonably +triumph? + + + + +Letter IX + +_The Count de St. Julian to Signor Hippolito Borelli_ + +_Messina_ + +You, my dear Hippolito, were the only one of my fellow-collegians, to +whom I communicated all the circumstances of that unfortunate situation +which obliged me to take a final leave of the university. The death of +a father, though not endeared by the highest reciprocations of mutual +kindness, must always make some impressions upon a susceptible mind. The +wound was scarcely healed that had been made by the loss of a mother, a +fond mother, who by her assiduous attentions had supplied every want, +and filled up every neglect, to which I might otherwise have been +exposed. + +When I quitted Palermo, I resolved before I determined upon any thing, +to proceed to the residence of my family at Leontini. My reception +was, as I expected, cold and formal. My brother related to me the +circumstances of the death of my father, over which he affected to shed +tears. He then produced his testament for my inspection, pretended to +blame me that though I were the elder, I had so little ingratiated +myself in his favour, and added, that he could not think of being guilty +of so undutiful a conduct, as to contravene the last dispositions of his +father. If however he could be of any use to me in my future plans of +life, he would exert himself to serve me. + +The next morning I quitted Leontini. My reflexions upon the present +posture of my affairs, could not but be melancholy. I was become as it +were a native of the world, discarded from every family, cut off from +every country. Born to a respectable rank and a splendid fortune, I +was precluded in a moment from expectations so reasonable, and an +inheritance which I might have hoped at this time to reap. Many there +are, I doubt not, who have no faculties by which to comprehend the +extent of this misfortune. The loss of possessions sufficiently ample, +and of the power and dignity annexed to his character, who is the +supporter of an ancient name, they would confess was to be regretted. +But I had many resources left. My brother would probably have received +me into his family, and I might have been preserved from the sensations +of exigency and want. And could I think of being obliged for this to +a brother, who had always beheld me with aversion, who was not of +a character to render the benefits he conferred insensible to the +receiver, and who, it was scarcely to be supposed, had not made use of +sinister and ungenerous arts to deprive me of my inheritance? But the +houses of the great were still open. My character was untainted, my +education had been such as to enable me to be useful in a thousand +ways. Ah, my Hippolito, the great are not always possessed of the most +capacious minds. There are innumerable little slights and offences that +shrink from description, but which are sufficient to keep alive the most +mortifying sense of dependency, and to make a man of sensibility, and +proud honour constantly unhappy. And must I, who had hoped to be +the ornament and boast of my country, thus become a burden to my +acquaintance, and a burden to myself? + +Such were the melancholy reflexions in which I was engaged. I had left +Leontini urged by the sentiments of miscarriage and resentment. I fled +from the formality of condolence, and the useless parade of friendship. +I would willingly have hid myself from every face I had hitherto known. +I would willingly have retired to a desart. My thoughts were all in +arms. I revolved a thousand vigorous resolutions without fixing upon +one. + +I had now proceeded somewhat more than two leagues upon my journey, +and had gained the centre of that vast and intricate forest which you +remember to be situated at no great distance from Leontini. In this +place there advanced upon me in a moment four of those bravoes, for +which this place is particularly infamous, and who are noted for their +daring and hazardous atchievements. Myself and my servant defended +ourselves against them for some time. One of them was wounded in the +beginning of the encounter. But it was impossible that we could have +resisted long. My servant was hurt in several places, and I had received +a wound in my arm. In this critical moment a cavalier, accompanied by +several attendants, and who appeared to be armed, advanced at no great +distance. The villains immediately took up their disabled companion, +and retired with precipitation into the thickest part of the wood. My +deliverer now ordered some of his attendants to pursue them, while +himself with one servant remained to assist us. + +Imagine, my dear friend, what were my emotions, when I discovered in my +preserver, the marquis of Pescara! I recollected in a moment all our +former intimacy, and in what manner it had so lately been broken off. +Little did I think that I should almost ever have seen him again. Much +less did I think that I should ever have owed him the most important +obligations. + +The expression of the countenance of both of us upon this sudden +recognition was complicated. Amidst all the surprize and gratitude, that +it was impossible not to testify, my eyes I am convinced had something +in them of the reproach of violated friendship. I thought I could trace, +and by what followed I could not be mistaken, in the air of my Rinaldo, +a confession of wrong, united with a kind of triumph, that he had been +enabled so unexpectedly and completely to regain that moral equilibrium +which he had before lost. + +It was not long before his servants returned from an unsuccessful +pursuit, and we set forward for a village about a quarter of a league +further upon the road from Leontini. It was there that I learned from my +friend the occasion and subject of his journey. He had heard at Naples a +confused report of the death of my father, and the unexpected succession +of my brother. The idea of this misfortune involuntarily afflicted him. +At the thought of my distress all his tenderness revived. "And was it," +it was thus that he described the progress of his reflections, "in +the moment of so unexpected a blow, that my St. Julian neglected the +circumstances of his own situation, to write to me that letter, +the freedom of whose remonstrances, and the earnestness of whose +exhortations so greatly offended me? How much does this consideration +enhance the purity and disinterestedness of his friendship? And is it +possible that I should have taken umbrage at that which was prompted +only by tenderness and attachment? And did I ever speak of his +interference in those harsh and reproachful terms which I so well +knew would be conveyed to him again? Could I have been so blinded by +groundless resentment, as to have painted him in all the colours of an +inflexible dictator, and a presumptuous censor? Could I have imputed his +conduct to motives of pride, affectation, and arrogance? How happy had I +been, had his advice arrived sooner, and been more regarded?" + +But it was not with self-blame and reproach only, that the recovery +of my Rinaldo was contented. The idea of the situation of his friend +incessantly haunted him. No pursuit, no avocation, could withdraw his +attention, or banish the recollection from his mind. He determined to +quit Naples in search of me. He left all those engagements, and all +those pleasures of which he had of late been so much enamoured, and +crossing the sea he came into Sicily. Learning that I had quitted +Palermo, he resolved to pursue his search of me to Leontini. He had +fixed his determination not to quit the generous business upon which he +had entered, without discovering me in my remotest retreat, atoning for +the groundless resentment he had harboured, and contributing every thing +in his power to repair the injustice I had suffered from those of my +own family. And in pursuance of these ideas he has made me the most +disinterested and liberal proposals of friendship and assistance. + +How is it, my Hippolito, that the same man shall be alternately governed +by the meanest and most exalted motives: that he shall now appear an +essence celestial and divine, and now debase himself by a conduct the +most indefensible and unworthy? But such I am afraid is man. Mixed +in all his qualities, and inconsistent in all his purposes. The most +virtuous and most venerable of us all are too often guilty of things +weak, sordid, and disgraceful. And it is to be hoped on the other hand, +that there are few so base and degenerate, as not sometimes to perform +actions of the most undoubted utility, and to feel sentiments dignified +and benevolent. It is in vain that the philosopher fits in his airy +eminence, and seeks to reduce the shapeless mass into form, and +endeavours to lay down rules for so variable and inconstant a system. +Nature mocks his efforts, and the pertinacity of events belies his +imaginary hypotheses. + +But I am guilty of injustice to my friend. An action which he has so +sincerely regretted, and so greatly atoned, ought not to be considered +with so much severity. I trust I am not misled by the personal +interest I may appear to have in his present conduct. I think I should +contemplate it with the same admiration, and allow it the same weight, +if its benevolence entirely regarded another. Indeed I am still in the +greatest uncertainty how to determine. I am still inclined to prefer my +former plan, of entering resolutely upon new scenes and new pursuits, +to that of taking up any durable residence in the palace of my friend. +There is something misbecoming a man in the bloom of youth, and +labouring under no natural disadvantages and infirmities, in the +subsisting in any manner upon the bounty of another. The pride of my +heart, a pride that I do not seek to extinguish, leads me to prefer an +honest independence, in however mean a station, to the most splendid, +and the most silken bondage. + +Why should not he that is born a nobleman be also born a man? A man is a +character superior to all those that civilization has invented. To be a +man is the profession of a citizen of the world. A man of rank is a poor +shivering, exotic plant, that cannot subsist out of his native soil. If +the imaginary barriers of society were thrown down, if we were reduced +back again to a state of nature, the nobleman would appear a shiftless +and a helpless being; he only who knew how to be a man would show like +the creature of God, a being sent into the world with the capacities of +subsistence and enjoyment. The nobleman, an artificial and fantastic +creation, would then lose all that homage in which he plumed himself, he +would be seen without disguise, and be despised by all. + +Oh, my Hippolito, in spite of all this parade of firmness and +resolution, I cannot quit my native country but with the sincerest +regret. I had one tie, why do I mention it? Never did I commit this +confidence to any mortal. It was the dream of a poetical imagination. It +was a vision drawn in the fantastic and airy colours that flow from the +pencil of youth. Fondly I once entertained a hope. I lived upon it. But +it is vanished for ever. + +I shall go from hence with the marquis of Pescara to Naples. I shall +there probably make a residence of several weeks. In that time I +shall have fixed my plans, and immediately after shall enter upon the +execution of them. + + + + +Letter X + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Cosenza_ + +My dear lord, + +Every thing that has happened to me for some time past, appears so +fortunate and extraordinary that I can scarcely persuade myself that +it is not a dream. Is it possible that I should not have been born to +uninterrupted misfortune? The outcast of my father almost as soon as I +had a being, I was never sensible to the solace of paternal kindness, I +could never open my heart, and pour forth all my thoughts into the bosom +of him to whom I owed my existence. Why was I created with a mind so +delicate as to be susceptible of a thousand feelings, and ruffled by a +thousand crosses, that glide unheeded over the breasts of the majority +of mankind? What filial duty did I neglect, what instance of obedience +did I ever refuse, that should have made me be considered with a regard +so rigorous and austere? And was it not punishment enough to be debarred +of all the solace I might have hoped to derive from the cares of a +guardian and a protector? How did I deserve to be deprived of that +patrimony which was my natural claim, to be sent forth, after having +formed so reasonable expectancies, after having received an education +suitable to my rank, unassisted and unprovided, upon the theatre of the +world? + +I had pictured that world to myself as cold, selfish, and unfeeling. +I expected to find the countenances of my fellow-creatures around me +smiling and unconcerned, whatever were my struggles, and whatever were +my disappointments. Philosophy had deprived me of those gay and romantic +prospects, which often fill the bosom of youth. A temper too sensible +and fastidious had taught me not to look for any great degree of +sympathy and disinterested ardour among the bulk of my fellow-creatures. + +I have now found that avoiding one extreme I encountered the other. As +most men, induced by their self-importance, expect that their feelings +should interest, and their situations arrest the attention of those +that surround them; so I having detected their error counted upon less +benevolence and looked for less friendship than I have found. My Rinaldo +demanded to be pardoned for having neglected my advice, and misconstrued +the motives of it. I had not less reason to intreat his forgiveness in +my turn, for having weighed his character with so little detail, and so +hastily decided to his disadvantage. + +My friend will not suspect me of interested flattery, when I say, that I +sincerely rejoice in a conduct so honourable to human nature as his has +been respecting me. He had no motive of vanity, for who was there that +interested himself in the fate of so obscure an individual; who in all +the polite circles and _conversazioni_ of Naples, would give him credit +for his friendship, to a person so unlike themselves? He superseded +all the feelings of resentment, he counted no distance, he passed over +mountains and seas in pursuit of his exalted design. + +But my Rinaldo, generous as he is, is not the only protector that +fortune has raised to the forlorn and deserted St. Julian. You are +acquainted with the liberal and friendly invitation I received from the +duke of Benevento at Messina. His reception was still more cordial and +soothing. He embraced me with warmth, and even wept over me. He could +not refrain from imprecations upon the memory of my father, and he +declared with energy, that the son of Leonora della Colonna should never +suffer from the arbitrary and capricious tyranny of a Sicilian count. +He assured me in the strongest terms that his whole fortune was at +my disposal. Then telling me that his dear and only child had been +impatient for my arrival, he took me by the hand, and led me to the +amiable Matilda. + +A change like this could not but be in the highest degree consolatory +and grateful to my wounded heart. The balm of friendship and affection +is at all times sweet and refreshing. To be freed at once from the +prospect of banishment, and the dread of dependence, to be received with +unbounded friendship and overflowing generosity by a relation of my +mother, and one who places the pride of his family in supporting and +distinguishing me, was an alteration in my circumstances which I could +not have hoped. I am not insensible to kindness. My heart is not shut +against sensations of pleasure. My spirits were exhilarated; my hours +passed in those little gratifications and compliances, by which I might +best manifest my attachment to my benefactor; and I had free recourse +to the society of his lovely daughter, whose conversation animated with +guileless sallies of wit, and graced with the most engaging modesty, +afforded me an entertainment, sweet to my breast, and congenial to my +temper. + +But alas, my dear marquis, it is still true what I have often observed, +that I was not born for happiness. In the midst of a scene from which +it might best be suspected to spring, I am uneasy. My heart is corroded +with anguish, and I have a secret grief, that palls and discolours every +enjoyment, and that, by being carefully shut up in my own bosom, is so +much the more afflicting and irksome. Yes, my Rinaldo, this it was that +gave a sting to the thought of removing to a foreign country. This +was that source of disquiet, which has constantly given me an air of +pensiveness and melancholy. In no intercourse of familiarity, in no hour +of unrestricted friendship, was it ever disclosed. It is not, my friend, +the dream of speculative philosophy, it has been verified in innumerable +facts, it is the subject of the sober experience of every man, that +communication and confidence alleviate every uneasiness. But ah, if it +were before disquiet and melancholy, now it burns, it rages, I am no +longer master of myself. + +You remember, my dear Rinaldo, that once in the course of my residence +at the university, I paid a visit to the duke of Benevento at Cosenza. +It was then that I first saw the amiable Matilda. She appeared to me the +most charming of her sex. Her cheeks had the freshness of the peach, and +her lips were roses. Her neck was alabaster, and her eyes sparkled with +animation, chastened with the most unrivalled gentleness and delicacy. +Her stature, her forehead, her mouth--but ah, impious wretch, how canst +thou pretend to trace her from charm to charm! Who can dissect unbounded +excellence? Who can coolly and deliberately gaze upon the brightness +of the meridian sun? I will say in one word, that her whole figure was +enchanting, that all her gestures were dignity, and every motion was +grace. + +Young and unexperienced I drank without suspicion of the poison of love. +I gazed upon her with extacy. I hung upon every accent of her voice. In +her society I appeared mute and absent. But it was not the silence of an +uninterested person: it was not the distraction of philosophic thought. +I was entirely engaged, my mind was full of the contemplations of her +excellence even to bursting. I felt no vacancy, I was conscious to no +want, I was full of contentment and happiness. + +As soon however as she withdrew, I felt myself melancholy and dejected. +I fled from company. I sought the most impervious solitude. I wasted the +live-long morn in the depth of umbrageous woods, amidst hills and meads, +where I could perceive no trace of a human footstep. I longed to be +alone with the object of my admiration. I thought I had much to say to +her, but I knew not what. I had no plan, my very wishes were not reduced +into a system. It was only, that full of a new and unexperienced +passion, it sought incessantly to break forth. It urged me to disburden +my labouring heart. + +Once I remember I obtained the opportunity I had so long wished. It came +upon me unexpectedly, and I was overwhelmed by it. My limbs trembled, +my eyes lost their wonted faculty. The objects before them swam along +indistinctly. I essayed to speak, my very tongue refused its office. I +felt that I perspired at every pore. I rose to retire, I sat down again +irresolute and confounded. + +Matilda perceived my disorder and coming towards me, enquired with a +tender and anxious voice, whether I felt myself ill. The plaintive and +interesting tone in which she delivered herself completed my confusion. +She rang the bell for assistance, and the scene was concluded. When I +returned to Palermo, I imagined that by being removed from the cause of +my passion, I should insensibly lose the passion itself. Rinaldo, you +know that I am not of that weak and effeminate temper to throw the reins +upon the neck of desire, to permit her a clear and undisputed reign. I +summoned all my reason and all my firmness to my aid. I considered the +superiority of her to whom my affections were attached, in rank, in +expectations, in fortune. I felt that my passion could not naturally be +crowned with success. "And shall I be the poor and feeble slave of love? +Animated as I am with ambition, aspiring to the greatest heights of +knowledge and distinction, shall I degenerate into an amorous and +languishing boy; shall I wilfully prepare for myself a long vista of +disappointment? Shall I by one froward and unreasonable desire, stain +all my future prospects, and discolour all those sources of enjoyment, +that fate may have reserved for me?" Alas, little did I then apprehend +that loss of fortune that was about to place me still more below the +object of my wishes! + +But my efforts were vain. I turned my attention indeed to a variety of +pursuits. I imagined that the flame which had sprung up at Cosenza was +entirely extinguished. I seemed to retain from it nothing but a kind of +soft melancholy and a sober cast of thought, that made me neither less +contented with myself, nor less agreeable to those whose partiality I +was desirous to engage. + +But I no sooner learned that reverse of fortune which disclosed itself +upon the death of my father, than I felt how much I had been deceived. I +had only drawn a slight cover over the embers of passion, and the fire +now broke out with twice its former violence. I had nourished it +unknown to myself with the distant ray of hope, I had still cheated my +imagination with an uncertain prospect of success. When every prospect +vanished, when all hopes were at an end, it burst every barrier, it +would no longer be concealed. My temper was in the utmost degree +unsuitable to a state of dependence, but it was this thought that made +it additionally harsh and dreadful to my mind. I loved my country with +the sincerest affection, but it was this that made banishment worse than +ten thousand deaths. The world appeared to me a frightful solitude, with +not one object that could interest all my attention, and fill up all the +wishes of my heart. + +From these apprehensions, and this dejection, I have been unexpectedly +delivered. But, oh, my dear marquis, what is the exchange I have made? I +reside under the same roof with the adorable Matilda. I see every day, +I converse without restraint with her, whom I can never hope to call +my own. Can I thus go on to cherish a passion, that can make me no +promises, that can suggest to me no hopes? Can I expect always to +conceal this passion from the most penetrating eyes? How do I know that +I am not at this moment discovered, that the next will not lay my heart +naked in the sight of the most amiable of women? + +Cosenza! thou shalt not long be my abode. I will not live for ever in +unavailing struggles. Concealment shall not always be the business of +the simplest and most undisguised of all dispositions. I will not +watch with momentary anxiety, I will not tremble with distracting +apprehensions. Matilda, thy honest and unsuspecting heart by me shall +never be led astray. If the fond wishes of a father are reserved for +cruel disappointment, I will not be the instrument. My secret shall lie +for ever buried in this faithful breast. It shall die with me. I will +fly to some distant land. I will retire to some country desolated by +ever burning suns, or buried beneath eternal snows. There I can love +at liberty. There I can breathe my sighs without one tell-tale wind to +carry them to the ears, with them to disturb the peace of those whom +beyond all mankind I venerate and adore. I may be miserable, I may be +given up to ever-during despair. But my patron and his spotless daughter +shall be happy. + +Alas, this is but the paroxysm of a lover's rage. I have no resolution, +I am lost in perplexity. I have essayed in vain, I cannot summon +together my scattered thoughts. Oh, my friend, never did I stand so much +in need of a friend as now. Advise me, instruct me. To the honesty of +your advice, and the sincerity of your friendship I can confide. Tell me +but what to do, and though you send me to the most distant parts of the +globe, I will not hesitate. + + + + +Letter XI + + +_The Same to the Same_ + +_Cosenza_ + +My most dear lord, + +Expect me in ten days from the date of this at your palace at Naples. My +mind is now become more quiet and serene than when I last wrote to you. +I have considered of the whole subject of that letter with perfect +deliberation. And I have now come to an unchangeable resolution. + +It is this which has restored a comparative tranquility to my thoughts. +Yes, my friend, there is a triumph in fortitude, an exultation in +heroical resolve, which for a moment at least, sets a man above the most +abject and distressing circumstances. Since I have felt my own dignity +and strength, the tumultuous hurry of my mind is stilled. I look upon +the objects around me with a calm and manly despair. I have not yet +disclosed my intentions to the duke, and I may perhaps find some +difficulty in inducing him to acquiesce in them. But I will never change +them. + +You will perceive from what I have said, that my design in coming to +Naples is to prepare for a voyage. I do not doubt of the friendship and +generous assistance of the duke of Benevento. I shall therefore enter +upon my new scheme of life with a more digested plan, and better +prospects.--But why do I talk of prospects! + +I have attempted, and with a degree of success, to dissipate my mind +within a few days past, by superintending the alterations about which +you spoke to me, in your gardens at this place. You will readily +perceive how unavoidably I am called off from an employment, which +derives a new pleasure from the sentiments of friendship it is +calculated to awaken, by the perverse and unfortunate events of my life. + + + + +Letter XII + + +_The Same to the Same_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +Why is it, my dear marquis, that the history of my life is so +party-coloured and extraordinary, that I am unable to foresee at the +smallest distance what is the destiny reserved for me? Happiness and +misery, success and disappointment so take their turns, that in the one +I have not time for despair, and in the other I dare not permit to my +heart a sincere and unmingled joy. + +The day after I dispatched my last letter the duke of Benevento, whose +age is so much advanced, was seized with a slight paralytic stroke. +He was for a short time deprived of all sensation. The trouble of his +family, every individual of which regards him with the profoundest +veneration, was inexpressible. Matilda, the virtuous Matilda, could not +be separated from the couch of her father. She hung over him with the +most anxious affection. She watched every symptom of his disorder, and +every variation of his countenance. + +I am convinced, my dear Rinaldo, that there is no object so beautiful +and engaging as this. A woman in all the pride of grace, and fulness of +her charms, tending with unwearied care a feeble and decrepid parent; +all her features informed with melting anxiety and filial tenderness, +yet suppressing the emotions of her heart and the wilder expressions of +sorrow; subduing even the stronger sentiments of nature, that she may +not by an useless and inconsiderate grief supersede the kind care, and +watchful attention, that it is her first ambition to yield. It is a +trite observation, that beauty never appears so attractive as when +unconscious of itself; and I am sure, that no self-forgetfulness can be +so amiable, as that which is founded in the emotions of a tender and +gentle heart. The disorder of the duke however was neither violent nor +lasting. In somewhat less than an hour, the favourable symptoms began to +appear, and he gradually recovered. In the mean time a certain lassitude +and feebleness remained from the shock he received, which has not yet +subsided. + +But what language shall I find to describe to my Rinaldo the scene to +which this event furnished the occasion? + +The next day the duke sent for his daughter and myself into his chamber. +As soon as we were alone he began to describe, in terms that affected us +both, the declining state of his health. "I feel," said he, "that +this poor worn-out body totters to its fall. The grave awaits me. The +summonses of death are such as cannot but be heard. + +"Death however inspires me with no terror. I have lived long and +happily. I have endeavoured so to discharge every duty in this world as +not to be afraid to meet the supreme source of excellence in another. +The greatness of him that made us is not calculated to inspire terror +but to the guilty. Power and exalted station, though increased to an +infinite degree, cannot make a just and virtuous being tremble. + +"Heaven has blessed me with a daughter, the most virtuous of her sex. +Her education has been adequate to the qualities which nature bestowed +upon her. I may without vanity assert, that Italy cannot produce her +parragon.--The first families of my country might be proud to receive +her into their bosom, princes might sue for her alliance. But I had +rather my Matilda should be happy than great. + +"Come near, my dear count. I will number you also among the precious +gifts of favouring heaven. Your reputation stands high in the world, and +is without a blemish. From earliest youth your praises were music to my +ears. But great as they were, till lately I knew not half your worth. +Had I known it sooner, I would sooner have studied how to reward it. I +should then perhaps have been too happy. + +"Believe me, my St. Julian, I have had much experience. In successive +campaigns, I have encountered hardships and danger. I have frequented +courts, and know their arts. Do not imagine then, young and unsuspecting +as you are, that you have been able to hide from me one wish of your +heart. I know that you love my daughter. I have beheld your growing +attachment with complacency. My Matilda, if I read her sentiments +aright, sees you with a favourable eye. Pursue her, my son, and win her. +If you can gain her approbation, doubt not that I will give my warmest +benedictions to the auspicious union." + +You will readily believe, that my first care was to return my most +ardent thanks to my protector and father. Immediately however I cast an +anxious and enquiring eye upon the mistress of my heart. Her face was +covered with blushes. I beheld in her a timidity and confusion that made +me tremble. But my suspence was not long. I have since drawn from her +the most favourable and transporting confession. Oh, my friend, she +acknowledges that from the first moment she saw me, she contemplated me +with partiality. She confesses, that her father by the declaration he +has made, so far from thwarting her ambition and disappointing her +wishes, has conferred upon her the highest obligation. How much, my dear +Rinaldo, is the colour of my fortune changed. It was upon this day, +at this very hour, I had determined to leave Cosenza for ever. I had +consigned myself over to despair. I was about to enter upon a world +where every face I beheld would have been a stranger to me. The scene +would have been uniform and desolate. I should have left all the +attachments of my youth, I should have left the very centre of my +existence behind me. I should have ceased to live. I should only have +drawn along a miserable train of perceptions from year to year, without +one bright day, without one gay prospect, to illuminate the gloomy +scene, and tell me that I was. + +Is it possible then that every expectation, and the whole colour of my +future life, can be so completely altered? Instead of despair, felicity. +Instead of one dark, unvaried scene, a prospect of still increasing +pleasure. Instead of standing alone, a monument of misfortune, an object +to awaken compassion in the most obdurate, shall I stand alone, the +happiest of mortals? Yes, I will never hereafter complain that nature +denied me a father, I have found a more than father. I will never +complain of calamity and affliction, in my Matilda I receive an +over-balance for them all. + + + + +Letter XIII + +_The Same to the Same_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +Alas, my friend, the greatest sublunary happiness is not untinged with +misfortune. I have no right however to exclaim. The misfortune to which +I am subject, however nearly it may affect me, makes no alteration in +the substance of my destiny. I still trust that I shall call my Matilda +mine. I still trust to have long successive years of happiness. And can +a mortal blessed as I, dare to complain? Can I give way to lamentation +and sorrow? Yes, my Rinaldo. The cloud will quickly vanish, but such is +the fate of mortals. The events, which, when sunk in the distant past, +affect us only with a calm regret, in the moment in which they overtake +us, overwhelm us with sorrow. + +I mentioned in my last, that the disorder of the duke of Benevento was +succeeded by a feebleness and languor that did not at first greatly +alarm us. It however increased daily, and was attended with a kind of +listlessness and insensibility that his physicians regarded as a very +dangerous symptom. Almost the only marks he discovered of perception and +pleasure, were in the attendance of the adorable Matilda. Repeatedly +at intervals he seized her trembling hand, and pressed it to his dying +lips. + +As the symptoms of feebleness increased upon him incessantly, he was +soon obliged to confine himself to his chamber. After an interval of +near ten days he became more clear and sensible. He called several of +his servants into the room, and gave them directions which were to be +executed after his decease. He then sent to desire that I would attend +him. His daughter was constantly in his chamber. He took both our hands +and joining them together, bowed over them his venerable head, and +poured forth a thousand prayers for our mutual felicity. We were +ourselves too much affected to be able to thank him for all his +tenderness and attention. + +By these exertions, and the affection with which they were mingled, +the spirits and strength of the duke were much exhausted. He almost +immediately fell into a profound sleep. But as morning approached, he +grew restless and disturbed. Every unfavourable symptom appeared. A +stroke still more violent than the preceding seized him, and he expired +in about two hours. + +Thus terminated a life which had been in the highest degree exemplary +and virtuous. In the former part of it, this excellent man distinguished +himself much in the service of his country, and engaged the affection +and attachment of his prince. He was respected by his equals, and adored +by the soldiery. His humanity was equally conspicuous with his courage. +When he left the public service for his retirement at this place, he did +not forget his former engagements, and his connexion with the army. +It is not perhaps easy for a government to make a complete and ample +provision for those poor men whose most vigorous years were spent in +defending their standard. Certain it is that few governments attend to +this duty in the degree in which they ought, and a wide field is left +for the benevolence of individuals. This benevolence was never more +largely and assiduously exhibited than by the duke of Benevento. He +provided for many of those persons of whose fidelity and bravery he had +been an eyewitness, in the most respectable offices in his family, and +among his retinue. Those for whom he could not find room in these +ways he gratified with pensions. He afforded such as were not yet +incapacitated for labour, the best spur to an honest industry, the +best solace under fatigue and toil, that of being assured that their +decrepitude should never stand in need of the simple means of comfort +and subsistence. + +It may naturally be supposed that the close of a life crowded with deeds +of beneficence, the exit of a man whose humanity was his principal +feature, was succeeded by a very general sorrow. Among his domestics +there appeared an universal gloom and dejection. His peasants and his +labourers lamented him as the best of masters, and the kindest of +benefactors. His pensionaries wept aloud, and were inconsolable for the +loss of him, in whom they seemed to place all their hopes of comfort and +content. + +You might form some idea of the sorrow of the lovely Matilda amidst this +troop of mourners, if I had been able to convey to you a better idea of +the softness and gentleness of her character. As the family had been +for some years composed only of his grace and herself, her circle of +acquaintance has never been extensive. Her father was all the world to +her. The duke had no enjoyment but in the present felicity and future +hopes of his daughter. The pleasures of Matilda were centered in the +ability she possessed of soothing the infirmities, and beguiling the +tedious hours of her aged parent. + +There is no virtue that adds so noble a charm to the finest traits of +beauty, as that which exerts itself in watching over the tranquility of +an aged parent. There are no tears that give so noble a lustre to the +cheek of innocence, as the tears of filial sorrow. Oh, my Rinaldo! I +would not exchange them for all the pearls of Arabia, I would not barter +them for the mines of Golconda. No, amiable Matilda, I will not check +thy chaste and tender grief. I prize it as the pledge of my future +happiness. I esteem it as that which raises thee to a level with angelic +goodness. Hence, thou gross and vulgar passion! that wouldst tempt me +to kiss away the tears from her glowing cheeks. I will not soil their +spotless purity. I will not seek to mix a thought of me with a sentiment +not unworthy of incorporeal essences. + +I shall continue at this place to regulate the business of the funeral. +I shall endeavour to put all the affairs of the lovely heiress into a +proper train. I will then wait upon my dear marquis at his palace in +Naples. For a few weeks, a few tedious weeks, I will quit the daily +sight and delightful society of my amiable charmer. At the expiration of +that term I shall hope to set out with my Rinaldo for his villa at +this place. Every thing is now in considerable forwardness, and will +doubtless by that time be prepared for your reception. + + + + +Letter XIV + + +_The Count de St. Julian to Matilda della Colonna_ + +_Naples_ + +I will thank you a thousand times for the generous permission you gave +me, to write to you from this place. I have waited an age, lovely +Matilda, that I might not intrude upon your hours of solitude and +affliction, and violate the feelings I so greatly respect. You must not +now be harsh and scrupulous. You must not cavil at the honest expression +of those sentiments you inspire. Can dissimulation ever be a virtue? +Can it ever be a duty to conceal those emotions of the soul upon which +honour has set her seal, and studiously to turn our discourse to +subjects uninteresting and distant to the heart? + +How happy am I in a passion which received the sanction of him, who +alone could claim a voice in the disposal of you! There are innumerable +lovers, filled with the most ardent passion, aiming at the purest +gratifications, whose happiness is traversed by the cold dictates of +artificial prudence, by the impotent distinctions of rank and family. +Unfeeling parents rise to thwart their wishes. The despotic hand +of authority tears asunder hearts united by the softest ties, and +sacrifices the prospect of felicity to ridiculous and unmeaning +prejudices. Let us, my Matilda, pity those whose fate is thus +unpropitious, but let us not voluntarily subject ourselves to their +misfortune. No voice is raised to forbid our union. Heaven and earth +command us to be happy. + +Alas, I am sufficiently unfortunate, that the arbitrary decorums of +society have banished me from your presence. In vain Naples holds out to +me all her pleasures and her luxury. Ill indeed do they pay me for the +exchange. Its court, its theatres, its assemblies, and its magnificence, +have no attractions for me. I had rather dwell in a cottage with her I +love, than be master of the proudest palace this city has to boast. + +In compliance with the obliging intreaties of the marquis of Pescara, I +have entered repeatedly into the scene of her entertainments. But I was +distracted and absent. A variety of topics were started of literature, +philosophy, news, and fashion. The man of humour told his pleasant tale, +and the wit flashed with his lively repartee. But I heard them not. +Their subjects were in my eye tedious and uninteresting. They talked +not of the natural progress of the passions. They did not dissect the +characters of the friend and the lover. My heart was at Cosenza. + +Fatigued with the crowded assembly and the fluttering parterre, I sought +relief in solitude. Never was solitude so grateful to me. I indulged +in a thousand reveries. Gay hope exhibited all her airy visions to +my fancy. I formed innumerable prospects of felicity, and each more +ravishing than the last. The joys painted by my imagination were surely +too pure, too tranquil to last for ever. Oh how sweet is an untasted +happiness! But ours, Matilda, shall be great, beyond what expectation +can suggest. Ours shall teem with ever fresh delights, refined by +sentiment, sanctified by virtue. Nothing but inevitable fate shall +change it. May that fate be distant as I wish it! + +But alas, capricious and unbounded fancy has sometimes exhibited a +different scene. A heart, enamoured, rivetted to its object like mine, +cannot but have intervals of solicitude and anxiety. If it have no real +subject of uncertainty and fear, it will create to itself imaginary +ones. But I have no need of these. I am placed at a distance from the +mistress of my heart, which may seem little to a cold and speculative +apprehension, but which my soul yearns to think of. My fate has not yet +received that public sanction which can alone put the finishing stroke +to my felicity. I cannot suspect, even in my most lawless flights, +the most innocent and artless of her sex of inconstancy. But how +many unexpected accidents may come between me and my happiness? How +comfortless is the thought that I can at no time say, "Now the amiable +Matilda is in health; now she dwells in peace and safety?" I receive an +account of her health, a paquet reaches me from Cosenza. Alas, it is two +tedious days from the date of the information. Into two tedious days how +many frightful events may be crowded by tyrant fancy! + + + + +Letter XV + + +_The Same to the Same_ + +_Naples_ + +I have waited, charming Matilda, with the most longing impatience in +hopes of receiving a letter from your own hand. Every post has agitated +me with suspense. My expectation has been continually raised, and as +often defeated. Many a cold and unanimated epistle has intruded +itself into my hands, when I thought to have found some token full of +gentleness and tenderness, which might have taught my heart to overflow +with rapture. If you knew, fair excellence, how much pain and uneasiness +your silence has given me, you could not surely have been so cruel. The +most rigid decorum could not have been offended by one scanty billet +that might just have informed me, I still retained a tender place in +your recollection. One solitary line would have raised me to a state of +happiness that princes might envy. + +A jealous and contracted mind placed in my situation, might fear to +undergo the imputation of selfishness and interest. He would represent +to himself, how brilliant was your station, how exalted your rank, how +splendid your revenues, and what a poor, deserted, and contemptible +figure I made in the eyes of the world, when your father first honoured +me with his attention. My Matilda were a match for princes. Her external +situation in the highest degree magnificent. Her person lovely and +engaging beyond all the beauty that Italy has to boast. Her mind +informed with the most refined judgment, the most elegant taste, the +most generous sentiments. When the dictates of prudence and virtue flow +from her beauteous lips, philosophers might listen with rapture, sages +might learn wisdom. And is it possible that this all-accomplished +woman can stoop from the dignity of her rank and the greatness of her +pretensions, to a person so obscure, so slenderly qualified as I am? + +But no, my Matilda, I am a stranger to these fears, my breast is +unvisited by the demon of suspicion. I employ no precaution. I do not +seek to constrain my passion. I lay my heart naked before you. I shall +ever maintain the most grateful sense of the benevolent friendship +of your venerable father, of your own unexampled and ravishing +condescension. But love, my amiable Matilda, knows no distinction of +rank. We cannot love without building our ardour upon the sense of a +kind of equality. All obligations must here in a manner cease but those +which are mutual. Those hearts that are sensible to the distance of +benefactor and client, are strangers to the sweetest emotions of this +amiable passion. + +But who is there that is perfectly master of his own character? Who +is there that can certainly foretel what will be his feelings and +sentiments in circumstances yet untried? Do not then, fairest, gentlest, +of thy sex, torture the lover that adores you. Do not persist in cold +and unexpressive silence. A thousand times have those lips made the +chaste confession of my happiness. A thousand times upon that hand have +I sealed my gratitude. Yet do I stand in need of fresh assurances. +Mutual attachment subsists not but in communication and sympathy. I +count the tedious moments. My wayward fancy paints in turn all the +events that are within the region of possibility. Too many of them there +are, against the apprehension of which no precaution can secure me. Do +not, my lovely Matilda, do not voluntarily increase them. Is not the +comfortless distance to which I am banished a sufficient punishment, +without adding to it those uneasinesses it is so much in your power to +remove? + + + + +Letter XVI + +_Matilda della Colonna to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +Is it possible you can put an unfavourable construction upon my silence? +You are not to be informed that it was nothing more than the simplest +dictates of modesty and decency required. I cannot believe, that if I +had offended against those dictates, it would not have sunk me a little +in your esteem. Your sex indeed is indulged with a large and extensive +licence. But in ours, my dear friend, propriety and decorum cannot be +too assiduously preserved. Our reputation is at the disposal of every +calumniator. The minutest offence can cast a shade upon it. A long and +uninterrupted course of the most spotless virtue can never restore it to +its first unsullied brightness. Many and various indeed are the steps by +which it may be tarnished, short of the sacrifice of chastity, and the +total dereliction of character. + +There is no test of gentleness and integrity of heart more obvious, +than the discharge of the filial duties. A truly mild and susceptible +disposition will sympathize in the concerns of a parent with the most +ardent affection, will be melted by his sufferings into the tenderest +sorrow. The child whose heart feels not with peculiar anguish the +distresses of him, from whom he derived his existence, to whom he owes +the most important obligations, and with whom he has been in habits +of unbounded confidence from earliest infancy, must be of a character +harsh, savage, and detestable. How can he be expected to melt over the +tale of a stranger? How can his hand be open to relief and munificence? +How can he discharge aright the offices of a family, and the duties of a +citizen? + +Recollect, my friend, never had any child a parent more gentle and +affectionate than mine. I was all his care and all his pride. He knew no +happiness but that of gratifying my desires, and outrunning my wishes. +He was my all. I have for several years, and even before I was able +properly to understand her value, lost a tender mother. In my surviving +parent then all my attachments centered. He was my protector and my +guide, he was my friend and my companion. All other connexions were +momentary and superficial. And till I knew my St. Julian, my warmest +affections never strayed from my father's roof. + +Do not however imagine, that in the moment of my sincerest sorrow, I +scarcely for one hour forget you. My sentiments have ever been the same. +They are the dictates of an upright and uncorrupted heart, and I do not +blush to own them. + +Undissipated in an extensive circle of acquaintance, untaught by the +prejudices of my education to look with a favourable eye upon the +majority of the young nobility of the present age, I saw you with a +heart unexperienced and unworn with the knowledge and corruptions of +the world. I saw you in your character totally different from the young +persons of your own rank. And the differences I discovered, were all +of them such, as recommended you to my esteem. My unguarded heart had +received impressions, even before the voice of my father had given a +sanction to my inclinations, that would not easily have been effaced. +When he gave me to you, he gave you a willing hand. Your birth is +noble and ancient as my own. Fortune has no charms for me. I have no +attachment to the brilliant circle, and the gaiety of public life. My +disposition, naturally grave and thoughtful, demands but few associates, +beside those whose hearts are in some degree in unison with my own. I +had rather live in a narrow circle united with a man, distinguished by +feeling, virtue, and truth, than be the ornament of courts, and the envy +of kingdoms. + +Previous to my closing this letter, I sent to enquire of the _maître +d'hôtel_ of the villa of the marquis, in what forwardness were his +preparations for the intended visit of his master. He informs me that +they will be finished in two days at farthest. I suppose it will not be +long from that time, before his lordship will set out from Naples. You +of course are inseparable from him. + + +END OF VOLUME I _Italian Letters_ + + + + + + +VOLUME II + + + +Letter I + +_The Marquis of Pescara to the Marquis of San Severino_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +My dear lord, + +I need not tell you that this place is celebrated for one of the most +beautiful spots of the habitable globe. Every thing now flourishes. +Nature puts on her gayest colours, and displays all her charms. The +walks among the more cultivated scenes of my own grounds, and amidst the +wilder objects of this favoured region are inexpressibly agreeable. The +society of my pensive and sentimental friend is particularly congenial +with the scenery around me. Do not imagine that I am so devoid of taste +as not to derive exquisite pleasure from these sources. Yet believe me, +there are times in which I regret the vivacity of your conversation, and +the amusements of Naples. + +Is this, my dear Ferdinand, an argument of a corrupted taste, or an +argument of sound and valuable improvement? Much may be said on both +sides. Of the mind justly polished, without verging to the squeamish and +effeminate, nature exhibits the most delightful sources of enjoyment. He +that turns aside from the simplicity of her compositions with disgust, +for the sake of the over curious and laboured entertainments of which +art is the inventor, may justly be pronounced unreasonably nice, and +ridiculously fastidious. + +But then on the other hand, the finest taste is of all others the most +easily offended. The mind most delicate and refined, requires the +greatest variety of pleasures. So much for logic. Let me tell you, +however, be it wisdom or be it folly, I owe it entirely to you. It is a +revolution in my humour, to which I was totally a stranger when I left +Palermo. + +I have not yet seen this rich and celebrated heiress of whom you told me +so much. It is several years since I remember to have been in company +where she was, and it is more than probable that I should not even know +her. If however I were to give full credit to the rhapsodies of my good +friend the count, whose description of her, by the way, has something +in it of romantic and dignified, which pleases me better than yours, as +luscious as it is, I should imagine her a perfect angel, beautiful +as Venus, chaste as Diana, majestic as the mother of the gods, and +enchanting as the graces. I know not why, but since I have studied the +persons of the fair under your tuition, I have felt the most impatient +desire to be acquainted with this _nonpareil_. + +No person however has yet been admitted into the sanctuary of the +goddess, except the person destined by the late duke to be her husband. +He himself has seen her but for a second time. It should seem, that as +many ceremonies were necessary in approaching her, as in being presented +to his holiness; and that she were as invisible as the emperor +of Ispahan. I am however differently affected by the perpetual +conversations of St. Julian upon the subject, than I am apt to think you +would be. You would probably first laugh at his extravagance, and then +be fatigued to death with his perseverance. For my part, I am agreeably +entertained with the romance of his sentiments, and highly charmed with +their disinterestedness and their virtue. + +Yes, my dear marquis, you may talk as you please of the wildness and +impracticability of the sentiments of my amiable solitaire, they are at +least in the highest degree amusing and beautiful. There is a voice +in every breast, whose feelings have not yet been entirely warped by +selfishness, responsive to them. It is in vain that the man of gaiety +and pleasure pronounces them impracticable, the generous heart gives the +lie to his assertions. He must be under the power of the poorest and +most despicable prejudices, who would reduce all human characters to a +level, who would deny the reality of all those virtues that the world +has idolized through revolving ages. Nothing can be disputed with +less plausibility, than that there are in the world certain noble and +elevated spirits, that rise above the vulgar notions and the narrow +conduct of the bulk of mankind, that soar to the sublimest heights of +rectitude, and from time to time realize those virtues, of which the +interested and illiberal deny the possibility. + +I can no more doubt, than I do of the truth of these apothegms, that the +count de St. Julian is one of these honourable characters. He treads +without the airy circle of dissipation. He is invulnerable to the +temptations of folly; he is unshaken by the examples of profligacy. +They are such characters as his that were formed to rescue mankind from +slavery, to prop the pillars of a declining state, and to arrest Astraea +in her re-ascent to heaven. They are such characters whose virtues +surprize astonished mortals, and avert the vengeance of offended heaven. + +Matilda della Colonna is, at least in the apprehension of her admirer, a +character quite as singular in her own sex as his can possibly appear to +me. They were made for each other. She is the only adequate reward that +can be bestowed upon his exalted virtues. Oh, my Ferdinand, there must +be a happiness reserved for such as these, which must make all other +felicity comparatively weak and despicable. It is the accord of the +purest sentiments. It is the union of guiltless souls. Its nature is +totally different from that of the casual encounter of the sexes, or +the prudent conjunctions in which the heart has no share. In the +considerations upon which it is founded, corporeal fitnesses occupy but +a narrow and subordinate rank, personal advantages and interest are +admitted for no share. It is the sympathy of hearts, it is the most +exalted species of social intercourse. + + + +Letter II + +_The Count de St. Julian to Signor Hippolito Borelli_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +My dear Hippolito, + +I have already acquainted you as they occurred, with those +circumstances, which have introduced so incredible an alteration in my +prospects and my fortune. From being an outcast of the world, a young +man without protectors, a nobleman without property, a lover despairing +ever to possess the object of his vows, I am become the most favoured +of mortals, the happiest of mankind. There is no character that I envy, +there is no situation for which I would exchange my own. My felicity is +of the colour of my mind; my prospects are those, for the fruition of +which heaven created me. What have I done to deserve so singular a +blessing? Is it possible that no wayward fate, no unforeseen and +tremendous disaster should come between me and my happiness? + +My Matilda is the most amiable of women. Every day she improves upon +me. Every day I discover new attractions in this inexhaustible mine of +excellence. Never was a character so simple, artless and undisguised. +Never was a heart so full of every tender sensibility. How does her +filial sorrow adorn, and exalt her? How ravishing is that beauty, that +is embellished with melancholy, and impearled with tears? + +Even when I suffer most from the unrivalled delicacy of her sentiments, +I cannot but admire. Ah, cruel Matilda, and will not one banishment +satisfy the inflexibility of thy temper, will not all my past sufferings +suffice to glut thy severity? Is it still necessary that the happiness +of months must be sacrificed to the inexorable laws of decorum? Must I +seek in distant climes a mitigation of my fate? Yes, too amiable tyrant, +thou shalt be obeyed. It will be less punishment to be separated from +thee by mountains crowned with snow, by impassable gulphs, by boundless +oceans, than to reside in the same city, or even under the same roof, +and not be permitted to see those ravishing beauties, to hear that sweet +expressive voice. + +You know, my dear Hippolito, the unspeakable obligations I have received +from my amiable friend, the marquis of Pescara. Though these obligations +can never be fully discharged, yet I am happy to have met with an +opportunity of demonstrating the gratitude that will ever burn in my +heart. My Rinaldo even rates the service I have undertaken to perform +for him beyond its true value. Would it were in my power to serve him as +greatly, as essentially as I wish! + +The estate of the house of Pescara in Castile is very considerable. +Though it has been in the possession of the noble ancestors of my friend +for near two centuries, yet, by the most singular fortune, there has +lately arisen a claimant to more than one half of it. His pleas, though +destitute of the smallest plausibility, are rendered formidable by the +possession he is said to have of the patronage and favour of the first +minister. In a word, it is become absolutely necessary for his lordship +in person, or some friend upon whose integrity and discretion he can +place the firmest dependence, to solicit his cause in the court of +Madrid. The marquis himself is much disinclined to the voyage, and +though he had too much delicacy in his own temper, and attachment to my +interest, to propose it himself, I can perceive that he is not a little +pleased at my having voluntarily undertaken it. + +My disposition is by nature that of an insatiable curiosity. I was not +born to be confined within the narrow limits of one island, or one +petty kingdom. My heart is large and capacious. It rises above local +prejudices; it forms to itself a philosophy equally suited to all the +climates of the earth; it embraces the whole human race. The majority +of my countrymen entertain the most violent aversion for the Spanish +nation. For my own part I can perceive in them many venerable and +excellent qualities. Their friendship is inviolable, their politeness +and hospitality of the most disinterested nature. Their honour is +unimpeached, and their veracity without example. Even from those traits +in their character, that appear the most absurd, or that are too often +productive of the most fatal consequences, I expect to derive amusement +and instruction. I doubt not, however pure be my flame for Matilda, that +the dissipation and variety of which this voyage will be productive, +will be friendly to my ease. I shall acquire wisdom and experience. I +shall be better prepared to fill up that most arduous of all characters, +the respectable and virtuous father of a family. + +In spite however of all these considerations, with which I endeavour to +console myself in the chagrin that preys upon my mind, the approaching +separation cannot but be in the utmost degree painful to me. In spite of +the momentary fortitude, that tells me that any distance is better than +the being placed within the reach of the mistress of my soul without +being once permitted to see her, I cannot help revolving with the most +poignant melancholy, the various and infinitely diversified objects that +shall shortly divide us. Repeatedly have I surveyed with the extremest +anguish the chart of those seas that I am destined to pass. I have +measured for the twentieth time the course that is usually held in this +voyage. Every additional league appears to me a new barrier between me +and my wishes, that I fear to be able to surmount a second time. + +And is it possible that I can leave my Matilda without a guardian to +protect her from unforeseen distress, without a monitor to whisper +to her in every future scene the constancy of her St. Julian? No, my +Hippolito, the objection would be insuperable. But thanks, eternal +thanks to propitious heaven! I have a friend in whom I can confide as my +own soul, whose happiness is dearer to me than my own. Yes, my Rinaldo, +whatever may be my destiny, in whatever scenes I may be hereafter +placed, I will recollect that my Matilda is under thy protection, and be +satisfied. I will recollect the obligations you have already conferred +upon me, and I will not hesitate to add to them that, which is greater +than them all. + + + +Letter III + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Naples_ + +Best of friends, + +Every thing is now prepared for my voyage. The ship will weigh anchor in +two days at farthest. This will be the last letter you will receive from +me before I bid adieu to Italy. + +I have not yet shaken off the melancholy with which the affecting leave +I took of the amiable Matilda impressed me. Never will the recollection +be effaced from my memory. It was then, my Rinaldo, that she laid aside +that delicate reserve, that lovely timidity, which she had hitherto +exhibited. It was then that she poured forth, without restraint, all the +ravishing tenderness of her nature. How affecting were those tears? How +heart-rending the sighs that heaved her throbbing bosom? When will those +tender exclamations cease to vibrate in my ear? When will those piercing +cries give over their task, the torturing this constant breast? You, my +friend, were witness to the scene, and though a mere spectator, I am +mistaken if it did not greatly affect you. + +Hear me, my Rinaldo, and let my words sink deep into your bosom. Into +your hands I commit the most precious jewel that was ever intrusted to +the custody of a friend. You are the arbiter of my fate. More, much more +than my life is in your disposal. If you should betray me, you will +commit a crime, that laughs to scorn the frivolity of all former +baseness. You will inflict upon me a torture, in comparison of which all +the laborious punishments that tyrants have invented, are couches of +luxury, are beds of roses. + +Forgive me, my friend, the paroxysm of a lover's rage. I should deserve +all the punishments it would be in your power to inflict, if I harboured +the remotest suspicion of your fidelity. No, I swear by all that is +sacred, it is my richest treasure, it is my choicest consolation. +Wherever I am, I will bear it about with me. In every reverse of fortune +I will regard it as the surest pledge of my felicity. Mountains shall +be hurled from their eternal bases, lofty cities shall be crumbled into +dust, but my Rinaldo shall never be false. + +It is this consideration that can only support me. The trials I undergo +are too great for the most perfect fortitude. I quit a treasure that the +globe in its inexhausted variety never equalled. I retire to a distance, +where months may intervene ere the only intelligence that can give +pleasure to my heart, shall reach me. I shall count however with the +most unshaken security upon my future happiness. Walls of brass, and +bars of iron could not give me that assured peace. + + + +Letter IV + +_Matilda della Colonna to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +Why is it, my friend, that you are determined to fly to so immense +a distance? You call me cruel, you charge me with unfeelingness and +inflexibility, and yet to my prayers you are deaf, to my intreaties you +are inexorable. + +I have satisfied all the claims of decorum. I have fulfilled with rigid +exactness the laws of decency. One advantage you at least gain by the +distance you are so desirous to place between us. My sentiments are less +guarded. Reputation and modesty have fewer claims upon a woman, who can +have no intercourse with her lover but by letter. My feelings are less +restrained. For the anxiety, which distance inspires, awakens all the +tenderness of my nature, and raises a tempest in my soul that will not +be controled. + +Oh, my St. Julian, till this late and lasting separation, I did not know +all the affection I bore you. Ever since you were parted from my aching +eyes, I have not known the serenity of a moment. The image of my friend +has been the constant companion of my waking hours, and has visited me +again in my dreams. The unknown dangers of the ocean swell in my eyes to +ten times their natural magnitude. Fickle and inconstant enemy, how +much I dread thee! Oh wast the lord of all my wishes in safety to the +destined harbour! May all the winds be still! May the tempests forget +their wonted rage! May every guardian power protect his voyage! Open +not, oh ocean, thy relentless bosom to yield him a watery grave! For +once be gentle and auspicious! Listen and grant a lover's prayer! +Restore him to my presence! May the dear sight of him once more refresh +these longing eyes! You will find this letter accompanied with a small +parcel, in which I have inclosed the miniature of myself, which I +have often heard you praise as a much better likeness than the larger +pictures. It will probably afford you some gratification during that +absence of which you so feelingly complain. It will suggest to you those +thoughts upon the subject of our love that have most in them of the calm +and soothing. It will be no unpleasant companion of your reveries, and +may sometimes amuse and cheat your deluded fancy. + + + +Letter V + +_The Answer_ + +_Alicant_ + +I am just arrived at this place, after a tedious and disagreeable +voyage. As we passed along the coast of Barbary we came in sight of many +of the corsairs with which that part of the world is infested. One of +them in particular, of larger burden than the rest, gave us chace, and +for some time we thought ourselves in considerable danger. Our ship +however proved the faster sailer, and quickly carried us out of sight. +Having escaped this danger, and nearly reached the Baleares, we were +overtaken by a tremendous storm. For some days the ship was driven at +the mercy of the winds; and, as the coast of those islands is surrounded +with invisible rocks, our peril was considerable. + +In the midst of danger however my thoughts were full of Matilda. Had the +ocean buried me in its capacious bosom, my last words would have been of +you, my last vows would have been made for your happiness. Had we been +taken by the enemy and carried into slavery, slavery would have had no +terrors, but those which consisted in the additional bars it would have +created between me and the mistress of my heart. It would have been of +little importance whether I had fallen to the lot of a despot, gentle or +severe. It would have separated us for years, perhaps for ever. Could I, +who have been so much afflicted by the separation of a few months, have +endured a punishment like this? That soft intercourse, that wafts the +thoughts of lovers to so vast a distance, that mimics so well an actual +converse, that cheats the weary heart of all its cares, would have been +dissolved for ever. Little then would have been the moment of a few +petty personal considerations; I should not long have survived. + +I only wait at this place to refresh myself for a few days, from a +fatigue so perfectly new to me, and then shall set out with all speed +for Madrid. My Matilda will readily believe that that business which +detains me at so vast a distance from my happiness, will be dispatched +with as much expedition as its nature will admit. I will not sacrifice +to any selfish considerations the interest of my friend, I will not +neglect the minutest exertion by which it may be in my power to serve +his cause. But the moment I have discharged what I owe to him, no power +upon earth shall delay my return, no not for an hour. + +I have seen little as yet of that people of whom I have entertained +so favourable ideas. But what I have seen has perfectly equalled my +expectation. Their carriage indeed is cold and formal, beyond what it is +possible for any man to have a conception of, who has not witnessed it. +But those persons to whom I had letters have received me with the utmost +attention and politeness. Sincerity is visible in all they do, and +constancy in all their modes of thinking. There is not a man among them, +who has once distinguished you, and whose favour it is possible for you +to forfeit without having deserved it. Will not an upright and honest +mind pardon many defects to a virtue like this? + +Oh, my Matilda, shall I recommend to you to remember your St. Julian, to +carry the thoughts of him every where about with you? Shall I make to +you a thousand vows of unalterable attachment? No, best of women, I will +not thus insult the integrity of your heart. I will not thus profane +the purity of our loves. The world in all its treasure has not a second +Matilda, and if it had, my heart is fixed, all the tender sensibilities +of my soul are exhausted. Your St. Julian was not made to change with +every wind. + + + +Letter VI + +_Matilda della Colonna to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +I begin this letter without having yet received any news from you since +you quitted the port of Naples. The time however that was requisite for +that purpose is already more than expired. Oh, my friend, if before +the commencement of this detested voyage, the dangers that attended it +appeared to me in so horrid colours, how think you that I support +them now? My imagination sickens, my poor heart is distracted at the +recollection of them. Why would you encounter so many unnecessary +perils? Why would you fly to so remote a climate? Many a friend could +have promoted equally well the interests of the marquis of Pescara, but +few lives are so valuable as thine. Many a friend could have solicited +this business in the court of Madrid, but believe me, there are few +that can boast that they possessed the heart of a Matilda. Simple and +sincere, I do not give myself away by halves. With a heart full of +tenderness and sensibility, I am affected more, much more than the +generality of my sex, with circumstances favourable or adverse. Ah +cruel, cruel St. Julian, was it for a lover to turn a deaf ear to the +intreaties of a mistress, that lived not but to honour his virtues, and +to sympathize in his felicity? Did I not for you lay aside that triple +delicacy and reserve, in which I prided myself? Were not my sighs and +tears visible and undisguised? Did not my cries pierce the lofty dome of +my paternal mansion, and move all hearts but yours? + +They tell me, my St. Julian, that I am busy to torment myself, that I +invent a thousand imaginary misfortunes. And is this to torment myself +to address my friend in these poor lines? Is this to deceive myself with +unreal evils? Even while Matilda cherishes the fond idea of pouring +out her complaints before him, my St. Julian may be a lifeless corse. +Perhaps he now lies neglected and unburied in the beds of the ocean. +Perhaps he has fallen a prey to barbarous men, more deaf and merciless +than the warring elements. Distracting ideas! And does this head live to +conceive them? Is this hand dull and insensible enough to write them? + +Believe me, my friend, my heart is tender and will easily break. It was +not formed to sustain a series of trials. It was not formed to encounter +a variety of distress. Oh, fly then, hasten to my arms. All those ideas +of form and decency, all the artificial decorums of society that I once +cherished, are dissolved before the darker reflections, the apprehensive +anxieties that your present situation has awakened. Yes, my St. Julian, +come to my arms. The moment you appear to claim me I am yours. Adieu to +the management of my sex. From this moment I commit all my concerns +to your direction. From this moment, your word shall be to me an +irrevocable law, which without reasoning, and without refinement, I will +implicitly obey. + + * * * * * + +I have received your letter. The pleasure it affords me is exquisite in +proportion to my preceding anguish. From the confession of the bravest +of men it now appears that my apprehensions were not wholly unfounded. +And yet upon reviewing what I have written, I almost blush for my +weakness. But it shall not be effaced. Disguise is little becoming +between lovers at so immense a distance. No, my friend, you shall know +all the interest you possess in my heart. I will at least afford you +that consolation amidst the pangs of absence. May heaven be propitious +in what yet remains before you! I will even weary it with my prayers. +May it return you to my arms safe and unhurt, and no other calamity +shall wring from me a murmur, or a sigh! + +One thing however it is necessary I should correct. I do not mean to +accuse you for the voyage you have undertaken, however it may distress +me. In my calmer moments I feel for the motives of it the warmest +approbation. It was the act of disinterested friendship. Every prejudice +of the heart pleaded against it. Love, that passion which reigns without +a rival in your breast, forbad the compliance. It was a virtue worthy +of you. There needed but this to convince me that you were infinitely +superior to the whole race of your fellow mortals. + + + + +Letter VII + +_The Answer_ + +_Buen Retiro_ + +Ten thousand thanks to the most amiable of women for the letter that has +just fallen into my hands. Yes, Matilda, if my heart were pierced on +every side with darts, and my life's blood seemed ready to follow every +one of them, your enchanting epistle would be balm to all my wounds, +would sooth all my cares. Tenderest, gentlest of dispositions, where +ever burned a love whose flame was pure as thine? Where ever was truth +that could vie with the truth of Matilda? Hereafter when the worthless +and the profligate exclaim upon the artifices of thy sex, when the lover +disappointed, wrung with anguish, imprecates curses on the kind, name +but Matilda, and every murmur shall be hushed; name but Matilda, and +the universal voice of nature shall confess that the female form is the +proper residence, the genuine temple of angelic goodness. + +I had upon the whole a most agreeable journey from Alicant to Madrid. It +would be superfluous to describe to a mind so well informed as yours, +the state of the country. You know how thin is its population, and how +indolent is the character of its inhabitants. Satisfied with possessing +the inexhaustible mines of Mexico and Peru, they imagine that the world +was made for them, that the rest of mankind were destined to labour that +they might be maintained in supineness and idleness. The experience of +more than two centuries has not been able to convince them of their +error, and amidst all their poverty, they still retain as much pride +as ever. The country however is naturally luxuriant and delicious; and +there are a considerable number of prospects in the provinces through +which I have passed that will scarcely yield to any that Italy has to +boast. As soon as I arrived at the metropolis I took up my residence at +this place, which is inexpressibly crowded with the residences of the +nobility and grandees. It is indeed one of the most beautiful spots in +nature, as it concentres at once the simplest rusticity with the utmost +elegance of refinement and society. My reception has been in the highest +degree flattering, and I please myself with the idea that I have already +made some progress in the business of the marquis of Pescara. + +You are not insensible that my character, at least in some of its +traits, is not uncongenial to that of a Spaniard. Whether it be owing to +this or any other cause I know not, but I believe never was any man, so +obscure as myself, distinguished in so obliging a manner by the first +personages in the kingdom. In return I derive from their society the +utmost satisfaction. Their lofty notions of honour, their gravity, their +politeness, and their sentimental way of thinking, have something in +them that affords me infinite entertainment and pleasure. Oh, Matilda, +how much more amiable is that character, that carries the principles +of honour and magnanimity to a dangerous extreme, than that which +endeavours to level all distinctions of mankind, and would remove and +confound the eternal barriers of virtue and vice! + +One of the most agreeable connexions I have made is with the duke of +Aranda. The four persons of whom his family is composed, his grace, the +duchess, their son and daughter, are all of them characters extremely +interesting and amiable. The lady Isabella is esteemed the first beauty +of the court of Madrid. The young count is tall, graceful, and manly, +with a fire and expression in his fine blue eyes beyond any thing I +ever saw. He has all the vivacity and enterprize of youth, without the +smallest tincture of libertinism and dissipation. I know not how it is, +but I find myself perfectly unable to describe his character without +running into paradox. He is at once serious and chearful. His +seriousness is so full of enthusiasm and originality, that it is the +most unlike in the world to the cold dogmatism of pedantry, or the +turgid and monotonous stile of the churchman. His chearfulness is not +the gaiety of humour, is not the brilliancy of wit, it is the result of +inexhaustible fancy and invincible spirit. In a word, I never met with +a character that interested me so much at first sight, and were it not +that I am bound by insuperable ties to my native soil, it would be the +first ambition of my heart to form with him the ties of an everlasting +friendship. + +Once more, my Matilda, adieu. You are under the protection of the most +generous of men, and the best of friends. I owe to the marquis of +Pescara, a thousand obligations that can never be compensated. Let it be +thy care thou better half of myself to receive him with that attention +and politeness, which is due to the worth of his character, and the +immensity of his friendship. There is something too sweet and enchanting +in the mild benevolence of Matilda, not to contribute largely to +his happiness. It is in your power, best of women, by the slightest +exertions, to pay him more than I could do by a life of labour. + + + +Letter VIII + +_The Same to the Same_ + + +_Buen Retiro_ + +I little thought during so distressing a period of absence, to have +written you a letter so gay and careless as my last. I confess indeed +the societies of this place afforded me so much entertainment, that in +the midst of generous friendship and unmerited kindness, I almost forgot +the anguish of a lover, and the pains of banishment. + +Alas, how dearly am I destined to pay for the most short-lived +relaxation! Every pleasure is now vanished, and I can scarcely believe +that it ever existed. I enter into the same societies, I frequent the +same scenes, and I wonder what it was that once entertained me. Yes, +Matilda, the enchantment is dissolved. All the gay colours that anon +played upon the objects around me, are fled. Chaos is come again. The +world is become all dreary solitude and impenetrable darkness. I am like +the poor mariner, whose imagination was for a moment caught with the +lofty sound of the thunder, round whom the sheeted lightning gilded the +foaming waves, and who then sinks for ever in the abyss. + +It is now four eternal months, and not one line from the hand of Matilda +has blessed these longing eyes, or cooled my burning brain. Opportunity +after opportunity has slipped away, one moment swelled with hope has +succeeded another, but to no purpose. The mail has not been more +constant to its place of destination than myself. But it was all +disappointment. It was in vain that I raged with unmeaning fury, and +demanded that with imprecation which was not to be found. Every calm was +misery to me. Every tempest tore my tortured heart a thousand ways. For +some time every favourable wind was balm to my soul, and nectar to my +burning frame. But it is over now--. How, how is it that I am to account +for this astonishing silence? Has nature changed her eternal laws, and +is Matilda false? Has she forgotten the poor St. Julian, upon whom she +once bestowed her tenderness with unstinted prodigality? Can that angel +form hide the foulest thoughts? Have those untasted lips abjured their +virgin vows? And has that hand been given to another? Hence green-eyed +jealousy, accursed fiend, with all thy train of black suspicions! No, +thou shall not find a moment's harbour in my breast. I will none of +thee. It were treason to the chastest of hearts, it were sacrilege to +the divinest form that ever visited this lower world, but to admit the +possibility of Matilda's infidelity. + +And where, ah where, shall I take refuge from these horrid thoughts? To +entertain them were depravity were death. I fly from them, and where is +it that I find myself? Surrounded by a thousand furies. Oh, gracious and +immaculate providence, why hast thou opened so many doors to tremendous +mischief? Innumerable accidents of nature may tear her from me for ever. +All the wanton brutalities that history records, and that the minds of +unworthy men can harbour, start up in dreadful array before me. + +Cruel and inflexible Matilda! thou once wert bounteous as the hand of +heaven, wert tender as the new born babe. What is it that has changed +thy disposition to the hard, the wanton, the obdurate? Behold a lover's +tears! Behold how low thou hast sunk him, whom thou once didst dignify +by the sweet and soothing name of _thy friend_! If ever the voice +of anguish found a passage to your heart, if those cheeks were ever +moistened with the drops of sacred pity, oh, hear me now! But I will +address myself to the rocks. I will invoke the knotted oaks and the +savage wolves of the forest. They will not refuse my cry, but Matilda is +deaf as the winds, inexorable as the gaping wave. + +In the state of mind in which I am, you will naturally suppose that I +am full of doubt and irresolution. Twice have I resolved to quit the +kingdom of Spain without delay, and to leave the business of friendship +unfinished. But I thank God these thoughts were of no long duration. No, +Matilda, let me be set up as a mark for the finger of scorn, let me be +appointed by heaven as a victim upon which to exhaust all its arrows. +Let me be miserable, but let me never, never deserve to be so. +Affliction, thou mayest beat upon my heart in one eternal storm! +Trouble, thou mayest tear this frame like a whirlwind! But never shall +all thy terrors shake my constant mind, or teach me to swerve for a +moment from the path I have marked out to myself! All other consolation +may be taken from me, but from the bulwark of innocence and integrity I +will never be separated. + + + +Letter IX + +_The Marquis of Pescara to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +I can never sufficiently thank you for the indefatigable friendship you +have displayed in the whole progress of my Spanish affairs. I have just +received a letter from the first minister of that court, by which I am +convinced that it cannot be long before they be terminated in the most +favourable manner. I scarcely know how, after all the obligations you +have conferred upon me, to intreat that you would complete them, by +paying a visit to Zamora before you quit the kingdom, and putting my +affairs there in some train, which from the negligence incident to a +disputed title, can scarcely fail to be in disorder. + +Believe me there is nothing for which I have more ardently longed, than +to clasp you once again in my arms. The additional procrastination which +this new journey will create, cannot be more afflicting to you than it +is to me. Abridge then, I intreat you, as much as possible, those delays +which are in some degree inevitable, and let me have the agreeable +surprize of holding my St. Julian to my breast before I imagined I had +reason to expect his return. + + + +Letter X + +_The Answer_ + + +_Zamora_ + +My dear lord, + +It is with the utmost pleasure that I have it now in my power to assure +you that your affair is finally closed at the court of Madrid, in a +manner the most advantageous and honourable to your name and family. You +will perceive from the date of this letter that I had no need of the +request you have made in order to remind me of my duty to my friend. +I was no sooner able to quit the capital with propriety, than I +immediately repaired hither. The derangement however of your affairs at +this place is greater than either of us could have imagined, and it +will take a considerable time to reduce them to that order, which shall +render them most beneficial to the peasant, and most productive to the +lord. + +The employment which I find at this place, serves in some degree to +dissipate the anguish of my mind. It is an employment embellished +by innocence, and consecrated by friendship. It is therefore of all +pursuits that which has the greatest tendency to lull the sense of +misery. + +Rinaldo, I had drawn the pangs of absence with no flattering pencil. I +had expressed them in the most harsh and aggravated colours. But dark +and gloomy as were the prognostics I had formed to myself, they, alas, +were but shadows of what was reserved for me. The event laughs to scorn +the conceptions I had entertained. Explain to me, best, most faithful of +friends, for you only can, what dark and portentous meaning is concealed +beneath the silence of Matilda. So far from your present epistle +assisting the conjectures of my madding brain, it bewilders me more +than ever. My friend dates his letter from the very place in which she +resides, and yet by not a single word does he inform me how, and what +she is. + +It is now six tedious months since a single line has reached me from her +hand. I have expostulated with the voice of apprehension, with the voice +of agony, but to no purpose. Had it not been for the tenfold obligation +in which I am bound to the best of friends, I had long, very long ere +this, deserted the kingdom of Spain for ever. The concerns of no man +upon earth, but those of my Rinaldo, could have detained me. Had they +related to myself alone, I had not wasted a thought on them. And yet +here I am at a greater distance from the centre of my solicitude than +ever. + +You, my friend, know not the exquisite and inexpressible anguish of a +mind, in doubt about that in which he is most interested. I have not the +most solitary and slender clue to guide me through the labyrinth. All +the events, all the calamities that may have overtaken me, are alike +probable and improbable, and there is not one of them that I can invent, +which can possibly have escaped the knowledge of that friend, into whose +hands I committed my all. Sickness, infidelity, death itself, all the +misfortunes to which humanity is heir, are alike certain and palpable. + +Oh, my Rinaldo, it was a most ill-judged and mistaken indulgence, that +led you to suppress the story of my disaster. Give me to know it. It may +be distressful, it may be tremendous. But be it as it will, there is +not a misfortune in the whole catalogue of human woes, the knowledge of +which would not be elysium to what I suffer. To be told the whole is +to know the worst. Time is the medicine of every anguish. There is no +malady incident to a conscious being, which if it does not annihilate +his existence, does not, after having attained a crisis, insensibly fall +away and dissolve. But apprehension, apprehension is hell itself. It +is infinite as the range of possibility. It is immortal as the mind +in which it takes up its residence. It gains ground every moment. +Compounded as it is of hope and fear, there is not a moment in which +it does not plume the wings of expectation. It prepares for itself +incessant, eternal disappointment. It grows for ever. At first it may +be trifling and insignificant, but anon it swells its giant limbs, and +hides its head among the clouds. + +Lost as I am to the fate, the character, the present dispositions of +Matilda, I have now no prop to lean upon but you. Upon you I place an +unshaken confidence. In your fidelity I can never be deceived. I owe you +greater obligations than ever man received from man before. When I was +forlorn and deserted by all the world, it was then you flew to save me. +You left the blandishments that have most power over the unsuspecting +mind of youth, you left the down of luxury, to search me out. It was you +that saved my life in the forest of Leontini. They were your generous +offers that afforded me the first specimens of that benevolence and +friendship, which restored me from the annihilation into which I was +plunged, to an existence more pleasant and happy than I had yet known. + +Rinaldo, I committed to your custody a jewel more precious than all the +treasures of the east. I have lost, I am deprived of her. Where shall I +seek her? In what situation, under what character shall I discover her? +Believe me, I have not in all the paroxysms of grief, entertained a +doubt of you. I have not for a moment suffered an expression of blame to +escape my lips. But may I not at least know from you, what it is that +has effected this strange alteration, to what am I to trust, and what is +the fate that I am to expect for the remainder of an existence of which +I am already weary? + +Yes, my dear marquis, life is now a burden to me. There is nothing but +the dear business of friendship, and the employment of disinterested +affection that could make it supportable. Accept at least this last +exertion of your St. Julian. His last vows shall be breathed for your +happiness. Fate, do what thou wilt me, but shower down thy choicest +blessings on my friend! Whatever thou deniest to my sincere exertions in +the cause of rectitude, bestow a double portion upon that artless and +ingenuous youth, who, however misguided for a moment, has founded even +upon the basis of error, a generous return and an heroic resolution, +which the most permanent exertions of spotless virtue scarce can equal! + + + +Letter XI + +_Signor Hippolito Borelli to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Palermo_ + +My dear lord, + +I have often heard it repeated as an observation of sagacity and +experience, that when one friend has a piece of disagreeable +intelligence to disclose to another, it is better to describe it +directly, and in simple terms, than to introduce it with that kind of +periphrasis and circumlocution, which oftener tends to excite a vague +and impatient horror in the reader, than to prepare him to bear his +misfortune with decency and fortitude. There are however no rules of +this kind that do not admit of exceptions, and I am too apprehensive +that the subject of my present letter may be classed among those +exceptions. St. Julian, I have a tale of horror to unfold! Lay down the +fatal scrowl at this place, and collect all the dignity and resolution +of your mind. You will stand in need of it. Fertile and ingenious as +your imagination often is in tormenting itself, I will defy you to +conceive an event more big with horror, more baleful and tremendous in +all its consequences. + +My friend, I have taken up my pen twenty times, and laid it down as +often again, uncertain in what manner to break my intelligence, and +where I ought to begin. I have been undetermined whether to write to you +at all, or to leave you to learn the disaster and your fate, as fortune +shall direct. It is an ungrateful and unpleasant task. Numbers would +exclaim upon it as imprudence and folly. I might at least suspend the +consummation of your affliction a little longer, and leave you a little +longer to the enjoyment of a deceitful repose. + +But I am terrified at the apprehension of how this news may overtake you +at last. I have always considered the count de St. Julian as one of the +most amiable of mankind. I have looked up to him as a model of virtue, +and I have exulted that I had the honour to be of the same species with +so fair a fame, and so true a heart. I would willingly lighten to a +man so excellent the load of calamity. Why is it, that heaven in +the mysteriousness of its providence, so often visits with superior +affliction, the noblest of her sons? I should be truly sorry, that my +friend should act in a manner unworthy of the tenor of his conduct, and +the exaltation of his character. You are now, my lord at a distance. You +have time to revolve the various circumstances of your condition, and to +fix with the coolest and most mature deliberation the conduct you shall +determine to hold. + +I remember in how pathetic a manner you complained, in the last letter +I received from you before you quitted Italy, of the horrors of +banishment. Little did my friend then know the additional horrors that +fate had in store for him. Two persons there were whom you loved above +all the world, in whom you placed the most unbounded confidence. My poor +friend would never have left Italy but to oblige his Rinaldo, would +never have quitted the daughter of the duke of Benevento, if he could +not have intrusted her to the custody of his Rinaldo. What then will be +his astonishment when he learns that two months have now elapsed since +the heiress of this illustrious house has assumed the title of the +marchioness of Pescara? + +Since this extraordinary news first reached me, I have employed some +pains to discover the means by which an event so surprising has been +effected. I have hitherto however met with a very partial success. There +hangs over it all the darkness of mystery, and all the cowardice of +guilt. There cannot be any doubt that that friend, whom for so long a +time you cherished in your bosom, has proved the most detestable of +villains, the blot and the deformity of the human character. How far the +marchioness has been involved in his guilt, I am not able to ascertain. +Surely however the fickleness and inconstancy of her conduct cannot +be unstained with the pollution of depravity. After the most diligent +search I have learned a report, which was at that time faintly whispered +at Cosenza, that you were upon the point of marriage with the only +daughter of the duke of Aranda. Whether any inferences can be built upon +so trivial a foundation I am totally ignorant. + +But might I be permitted to advise you, you ought to cast these base and +dishonourable characters from your heart for ever. The marquis is surely +unworthy of your sword. He ought not to die, but in a manner deeply +stamped with the infamy in which he has lived. I will not pretend to +alledge to a person so thoroughly master of every question of this +kind, how poor and inadequate is such a revenge: what a barbarous and +unmeaning custom it is, that thus puts the life of the innocent and +injured in the scale with that of the destroyer, and leaves the decision +of immutable differences to skill, to fortune, and a thousand trivial +and contemptible circumstances. You are not to be told how much more +there is of true heroism in refusing than in giving a challenge, in +bearing an injury with superiority and virtuous fortitude, than in +engaging in a Gothic and savage revenge. + +It is not easy perhaps to find a woman, deserving enough to be united +for life to the fate of my friend. Certain I am, if I may be permitted +to deliver my sentiments, there is a levity and folly conspicuous in the +temper of her you have lost, that renders her unworthy of being lamented +by a man of discernment and sobriety. What to desert without management +and without regret, one to whom she had vowed eternal constancy, a man, +of whose amiable character, and glorious qualities she had so many +opportunities of being convinced? Oh, shame where is thy blush? If +iniquity like this, walks the world with impunity, where is the vice +that shall be branded with infamy, to deter the most daring and +profligate offender? Let us state the transaction in a light the most +favourable to the fair inconstant. What thin veil, what paltry arts +were employed by this mighty politician to confound and mislead an +understanding, clear and penetrating upon all other subjects, blind and +feeble only upon that in which the happiness of her life was involved? + +My St. Julian, the exertion of that fortitude with which nature has so +richly endowed you, was never so completely called for in any other +instance. This is the crisis of your life. This is the very tide, which +accordingly as it is improved or neglected, will give a colour to all +your future story. Let not that amiable man, who has found the art of +introducing heroism into common life, and dignifying the most trivial +circumstances by the sublimity and refinedness of his sentiments, now, +in the most important affair, sink below the common level. Now is the +time to display the true greatness of your mind. Now is the time to +prove the consistency of your character. + +A mind, destitute of resources, and unendowed with that elasticity which +is the badge of an immortal nature, when placed in your circumstances, +might probably sink into dereliction and despair. Here in the moral and +useful point of view would be placed the termination of their course. +What a different prospect does the future life of my St. Julian suggest +to me? I see him rising superior to misfortune. I see him refined +like silver from, the furnace. His affections and his thoughts, being +detached by calamity from all consideration of self, he lays out his +exertions in acts of benevolence. His life is one tissue of sympathy and +compassion. He is an extensive benefit to mankind. His influence, like +that of the sun, cheers the hopeless, and illuminates the desolate. How +necessary are such characters as these, to soften the rigour of the +sublunary scene, and to stamp an impression of dignity on the degeneracy +of the human character? + + + +Letter XII [A] + +_Matilda della Colonna to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +I rise from a bed, which you have surrounded with the severest +misfortunes, to address myself to you in this billet. It is in vain, +that in conformity to the dull round of custom, I seek the couch of +repose, sleep is for ever fled from my eyes. I seek it on every side, +but on swift wings it flits far, very far, from me. It is now the +dead of night. All eyes are closed but mine. The senses of all other +creatures through the universe of God, are steeped in forgetfulness. Oh, +sweet, oblivious power, when wilt thou come to my assistance, when wilt +thou shed thy poppies upon this distracted head! + +There was a time, when no human creature was so happy as the now forlorn +Matilda. My days were full of gaiety and innocence. My thoughts were +void of guile, and I imagined all around me artless as myself. I was by +nature indeed weak and timid, trembling at every leaf, shuddering with +apprehension of the lightest danger. But I had a protector generous +and brave, that spread his arms over me, like the wide branches of a +venerable oak, and round whom I clung, like ivy on the trunk. Why didst +thou come, like a cold and murderous blight, to blast all my hopes of +happiness, and to shatter my mellow hangings? + +I have often told you that my heart was not tough and inflexible, to +be played upon with a thousand experiments, and encounter a thousand +trials. But you would not believe me. You could not think my frame +was so brittle and tender, and my heart so easily broken. Inexorable, +incredulous man! you shall not be long in doubt. You shall soon perceive +that I may not endure much more. + +[Footnote A: This letter was written several months earlier than the +preceding, but was intercepted by the marquis of Pescara.] + +How could you deceive me so entirely? I loved you with the sincerest +affection. I thought you artless as truth, as free from vice and folly +as etherial spirits. When your hypocrisy was the most consummate, your +countenance had then in my eye, most the air of innocence. Your visage +was clear and open as the day. But it was a cloak for the blackest +thoughts and the most complicated designs. You stole upon me unprepared, +you found all the avenues to my heart, and you made yourself the arbiter +of my happiness before I was aware. + +You hear me, thou arch impostor! There are punishments reserved for +those, who undermine the peace of virtue, and steal away the tranquility +of innocence. This is thy day. Now thou laughest at all my calamity, +thou mockest all my anguish. But do not think that thy triumph shall be +for ever. That thought would be fond and false as mine have been. The +empire of rectitude shall one day be vindicated. Matilda shall one day +rise above thee. + +But perhaps, St. Julian, it is not yet too late. The door is yet open to +thy return. My claim upon thy heart is prior, better every way than +that of donna Isabella. Leave her as you left me. It will cost you a +repentance less severe. The wounds you have inflicted may yet be healed. +The mischiefs you have caused are not yet irreparable. These fond arms +are open to receive you. To this unresentful bosom you may return in +safety. But remember, I intreat you, the opportunity will be of no long +duration. Every moment is winged with fate. A little more hesitation, +and the irrevocable knot is tied, and Spain will claim you for her own. +A little more delay, and this fond credulous heart, that yet exerts +itself in a few vain struggles, will rest in peace, will crumble into +dust, and no longer be sensible to the misery that devours it. Dear, +long expected moment, speed thy flight! To how many more calamitous days +must these eyes be witness? In how many more nights must they wander +through a material darkness, that is indeed meridian splendour, when +compared with the gloom in which my mind is involved? + +Do not imagine that I have been easily persuaded of the truth of your +infidelity. I have not indulged to levity and credulity. I have heaped +evidence upon evidence. I have resisted the proofs that offered on +every side, till I have become liable to the character of stupid and +insensible. Would it were possible for me to be deceived! But no, the +delusion is vanished. I doubt, I hesitate, no longer. All without is +certainty, and all within is unmingled wretchedness. + + * * * * * + +St. Julian, I once again resume my pen. I was willing you should be +acquainted with all the distress and softness of my heart. I was willing +to furnish you with every motive to redeem the character of a man, +before it were too late. Do not however think me incapable of a spirited +and a steady resolution. It were easy for me to address a letter to the +family of Aranda, I might describe to them all my wrong, and prevent +that dreaded union, the thought of which distresses me. My letter might +probably arrive before the mischief were irretrievable. It is not +likely that so illustrious a house, however they may have previously +condescended to the speciousness of your qualities, would persist in +their design in the face of so cogent objections. But I am not capable +of so weak and poor spirited a revenge. + +Return, my lord, yet return to her you have deserted. Let your return be +voluntary, and it shall be welcome as the light of day to these sad and +weeping eyes, and it shall be dear and precious to my soul, as the ruddy +drops that warm my heart. But I will not force an unwilling victim. Such +a prize would be unworthy of the artless and constant spirit of Matilda. +Such a husband would be the bane of my peace, and the curse of my +hapless days. That he were the once loved St. Julian, would but +aggravate the distress, and rankle the arrow. It would continually +remind me of the dear prospects, and the fond expectations I had once +formed, without having the smallest tendency to gratify them. + + + +Letter XIII + +_The Marquis of Pescara to the Marquis of San Severino_ + +_Cosenza_ + +My dear lord, + +Why is it that a heart feeble and unheroic as mine, should be destined +to encounter so many temptations? I might have passed through the +world honourable and immaculate, had circumstances been a little more +propitious. As it is, I shall probably descend to the grave with a +character, at least among the scrupulous and the honest, reproachful and +scandalous. Now this I can never account for. My heart is a stranger to +all the dark and malignant passions. I am not cursed with an unbounded +ambition. I am a stranger to inexorable hate and fell revenge. I aim at +happiness and gratification. But if it were in my power I would have all +my fellow-creatures happy as myself. + +Why is the fair Matilda so incomparably beautiful and so inexpressibly +attractive? Had her temper been less sweet and undesigning, had her +understanding been less delicate and refined, had not the graces dwelt +upon those pouting lips, my heart had been sound and unhurt to this +very hour. But to see her every day, to converse with her at all +opportunities, to be regarded by her as her only friend and chosen +protector, tell me, ye gods, what heart, that was not perfectly +invulnerable, that was not totally impregnated with the waters of the +Styx, could have come off victorious from trials like these? + +And yet, my dear Ferdinand, to see the distress of the lovely Matilda, +to see her bosom heave with anguish, and her eyes suffused with tears, +to hear the heart-rending sighs continually bursting from her, in spite +of the fancied resolution, and the sweet pride that fill her soul, how +callous, how void of feeling and sympathy ought the man to be, in whom +objects like these can call up no relentings? Ah, my lord, when I +observe how her tender frame is shaken with misfortune, I am sometimes +ready to apprehend that it totters to its fall, that it is impossible +she should survive the struggling, tumultuous passions that rage within +her. What a glorious prize would then be lost? What would then become +of all the deep contrivances, the mighty politics, that your friendship +suggested? + +And yet, so wayward is my fate, those very objects which might be +expected to awaken the sincerest penitence and regret, now only serve to +give new strength to the passion that devours me, and to make my flame +surmount every obstacle that can oppose its progress. Yes, Matilda, +thou must be mine. Heaven and earth cannot now overturn the irrevocable +decree. It has been the incessant object of my attention to throw in +those artful baits which might best divert the current of her soul. I +have assiduously inflamed her resentment to the highest pitch, and I +flatter myself that I have made some progress towards the concluding +stroke. + +There is no situation in which we stand in greater need of sympathy and +consolation, than in those moments of forlornness and desertion to which +the poor Matilda imagines herself reduced. At these times my friendship +has been most unwearied in its exertions. I have answered sigh with +sigh, and mingled my tears with those of the lovely mourner. Believe me, +Ferdinand, this has not been entirely affectation and hypocrisy. There +is a vein of sensibility in the human heart, that will not permit us to +behold an artless and an innocent distress, at least when surrounded +with all the charms of beauty, without feeling our souls involuntarily +dilated, and our eyes unexpectedly swimming in tears. + +But I have another source of disquietude which is unaccompanied with any +alleviating circumstances. A letter from the count de St. Julian to his +Matilda has just been conveyed to my hands. It is filled with the most +affecting and tender complaints of her silence that can possibly be +imagined. He has too exalted a notion of the fair charmer to attribute +this to lightness and inconstancy. His inventive fancy conjures up a +thousand horrid phantoms, and surrounds the mistress of his soul with +I know not what imaginary calamities. But that passage of the whole +epistle that overwhelms me most, is one, in which, in spite of all the +anguish of his mind, in spite of appearances, he expresses the most +unsuspecting confidence in his false and treacherous friend. He still +recommends me to his Matilda as her best protector and surest guardian. +Ah, my St. Julian, how didst thou deserve to be cursed with an +associate, hollow and deceitful as Rinaldo? + +Yes, marquis, in spite of all the arguments you have alledged to me upon +the subject, I still regard my first and youthful friend, as the most +exalted and the foremost of human beings. You may talk of pride, vanity, +and stoicism, the heart that listens to the imputation feels its +sophistry. It is not vanity, for his virtuous actions are rather +studiously hid from observation, than ostentatiously displayed. Is it +pride? It is a pride that constitutes the truest dignity. It is a pride +worthy of heroes and of gods. What analogy does it bear with the pride +of avarice, and the pride of rank; how is it similar to the haughty +meanness of patronage, and the insatiable cravings of ambition? + +But I must not indulge to reflexions like these. It is to no purpose for +the disinterested tenderness, the unstoical affection of my St. Julian +to start up in array before me. Hence remorse, and all her kindred +passions! I am cruel, obdurate, and unrelenting. Yes, most amiable of +men, you might as well address your cries to the senseless rocks. You +might as well hope with your eloquent and soft complainings to persuade +the crocodile that was ready to devour you. I have passed the Rubicon. +I have taken the irrevocable step. It is too late, ah, much too late to +retreat! + + + +Letter XIV + +_The Marquis of San Severino to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Naples_ + +Joy, uninterrupted, immortal joy to my dear Rinaldo. May all your days +be winged with triumph, and all your nights be rapture. Believe me, I +feel the sincerest congratulation upon the desired event of your long +expected marriage. My lord, you have completed an action that deserves +to be recorded in eternal brass. Why should politics be confined to the +negotiations of ambassadors, and the cabinets of princes? I have often +revolved the question, and by all that is sacred I can see no reason for +it. Is it natural that the unanimating and phlegmatic transactions of +a court should engage a more unwearied attention, awaken a brighter +invention, or incite a more arduous pursuit than those of love? When +beauty solicits the appetite, when the most ravishing tenderness and +susceptibility attract the affections, it is then that the heart is most +distracted and regardless, and the head least fertile in artifice and +stratagem. + +My joy is the more sincere, as I was compelled repeatedly to doubt of +your perseverance. What sense was there in that boyish remorse, and +those idle self-reproaches, in which you frequently employed yourself? +No, Rinaldo, a man ought never to enter upon an heroical and arduous +undertaking without being perfectly composed, and absolutely sure of +himself. What a pitiful figure would my friend have made, had he stopped +in the midway, and let go the angelic prize when it was already within +his grasp? If it had not been for my repeated exhortations, if I had +not watched over you like your guardian genius, would you have been now +flushed with success, and crowned with unfading laurel? + + + +Letter XV + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + + +_Livorno_ + +My lord, + +I hoped before this time to have presented before you the form of +that injured friend, which, if your heart is not yet callous to every +impression, must be more blasting to your sight, than all the chimeras +that can be conjured up by a terrified imagination, or a guilty +conscience. I no sooner received the accursed intelligence at Zamora, +than I flew with the speed of lightning. I permitted no consideration +upon earth to delay me till I arrived at Alicant. But the sea was less +favourable to the impatience of my spirit. I set sail in a boisterous +and unpromising season. I have been long tossed about at the mercy of +the ocean. I thank God, after having a thousand times despaired of it, +that I have at length set foot in a port of Italy. It is distant +indeed, but the ardour of my purpose were sufficient to cut short all +intermission. + +My lord, I trusted you as my own soul. No consideration could have moved +me to entertain a moment's suspicion of your fidelity. I placed in your +hand the most important pledge it ever was my fortune to possess. I +employed no guard. I opened to you an unsuspecting bosom, and you have +stung me to the heart. I gave you the widest opportunity, and it is +through my weak and groundless confidence that you have reached me. You +have employed without scruple all those advantages it put into your +hands. You have undermined me at your ease. I left you to protect my +life's blood, my heart of heart, from every attack, to preserve the +singleness of her affections, and the constancy of her attachment. It +was yours to have breathed into her ear the sighs of St. Julian. It was +yours ambitiously to expatiate upon his amiable qualities. You were +every day to have added fuel to the flame. You were to have presented +Matilda to my arms, more beautiful, more tender, more kind, than she had +ever appeared. From this moment then, let the name of trust be a by-word +for the profligate to scoff at! Let the epithet of friend be a mildew to +the chaste and uncorrupted ear! Let mutual confidence be banished from +the earth, and men, more savage than the brute, devour each other! + +Was it possible, my lord, that you should dream, that the benefits you +had formerly conferred upon me, could deprive my resentment of all its +sting under the present provocation! If you did, believe me, you were +most egregiously mistaken. It is true I owed you much, and heaven +has not cursed me with a heart of steel. What bounds did I set to my +gratitude? I left my natal shore, I braved all the dangers of the ocean, +I fought in foreign climes the power of requital. I fondly imagined that +I could never discharge so vast obligations. But the invention of your +lordship is more fertile than mine. You have found the means to blot +them in a moment. Yes, my lord, from henceforth all contract between +us is canceled. You have set us right upon our first foundations. +Friendship, affection, pity, I give you to the winds! Come to my bosom, +unmixed malignity, black-boiling revenge! You are now the only inmates +welcome to my heart. + +Oh, Rinaldo, that character once so dear to me, that youth over whose +opening inclinations I watched with so unremitting care, is it you that +are the author of so severe a misfortune? I held you to my breast. I +poured upon your head all that magazine of affection and tenderness, +with which heaven had dowered me. Never did one man so ardently love +another. Never did one man interest himself so much in another's truth +and virtue, in another's peace and happiness. I formed you for heroism. +I cultivated those features in your character which might have made +you an ornament to your country and mankind. I strewed your path with +flowers, I made the couch beneath you violets and roses. Hear me, yet +hear me! Learn to perceive all the magnitude of your crime. You have +murdered your friend. You have wounded him in the tenderest part. You +have seduced the purest innocence and the most unexampled truth. For +is it possible that Matilda, erewhile the pattern of every spotless +excellence, could have been a party in the black design? + +But it is no longer time for the mildness of censure and the sobriety of +reproach. I would utter myself in the fierce and unqualified language of +invective. You have sinned beyond redemption. I would speak daggers. +I would wring blood from your heart at every word. But no; I will not +waste myself in angry words. I will not indulge to the bitterness of +opprobrium. Nothing but the anguish of my soul should have wrung from +me these solitary lines. Nothing but the fear of not surviving to my +revenge, should have prevented me from forestalling them in person.--I +will meet thee at Cerenzo. + + + +Letter XVI + +_The Marquis of San Severino to the Marchioness of Pescara_ + +_Cerenzo_ + +Madam, + +I am truly sorry that it falls to my lot to communicate to you the +distressing tidings with which it is perfectly necessary you should be +acquainted. The marquis, your husband, and my most dear friend, has +this morning fallen in a duel at this place. I am afraid it will be no +alleviation of the unfortunate intelligence, if I add, that the hand by +which he fell, was that of the count de St. Julian. + +His lordship left Cosenza, I understand, with the declared intention of +honouring me with a visit at Naples. He accordingly arrived at my palace +in the evening of the second day after he left you. He there laid before +me a letter he had received from the count, from which it appeared that +the misunderstanding was owing to a rivalship of no recent date in the +affections of your ladyship. It is not my business to enter into the +merits of the dispute. You, madam, are doubtless too well acquainted +with the laws of modern honour, pernicious in many instances, and which +have proved so fatal to the valuable life of the marquis, not to know +that the intended rencounter, circumstanced as it was, could not +possibly have been prevented. + +As we were informed that the count de St. Julian was detained by +sickness at Livorno, we continued two days longer at Naples before we +set out for our place of destination at Cerenzo. We arrived there on the +evening of the twenty-third, and the count de St. Julian the next day +at noon. We were soon after waited upon in form by signor Hippolito +Borelli, who had been a fellow student with each of these young noblemen +at the university of Palermo. He requested an interview with me, and +informing me that he attended the count in quality of second, we began +to adjust those minutiae, which are usually referred to the decision of +those who exercise that character. + +The count and the marquis had fixed their quarters at the two principal +hotels of this place. Of consequence there was no sort of intercourse +between them during the remainder of the day. In the evening we were +attended by the baron of St. Angelo, who had heard by chance of our +arrival. We spent the remainder of the day in much gaiety, and I +never saw the marquis of Pescara exert himself more, or display more +collectedness and humour, than upon this occasion. After we separated, +however, he appeared melancholy and exhausted. He was fatigued with the +repeated journies he had performed, and after having walked up and down +the room, for some time, in profound thought, he retired pretty early to +his chamber. + +The next day at six in the morning we repaired according to appointment +to the ramparts. We found the count de St. Julian and his friend arrived +before us. As we approached, the marquis made a slight congee to the +count, which was not returned by the other. "My lord," cried the +marquis,--"Stop," replied his antagonist, in a severe and impatient +tone. "This is no time for discussions. It was not that purpose that +brought me hither." My lord of Pescara appeared somewhat hurt at so +peremptory and unceremonious a rejoinder, but presently recovered +himself. Each party then took his ground, and they fired their pistols +without any other effect, than the shoulder of the count being somewhat +grazed by one of the balls. + +Signor Borelli and myself now interposed, and endeavoured to compromise +the affair. Our attempt however presently appeared perfectly fruitless. +Both parties were determined to proceed to further action. The marquis, +who at first had been perfectly calm, was now too impatient and eager to +admit of a moment's delay. The count, who had then appeared agitated and +disturbed, now assumed a collected air, a ferociousness and intrepidity, +which, though it seemed to wait an opportunity of displaying itself, was +deaf as the winds, and immoveable as the roots of Vesuvius. + +They now drew their swords. The passes of both were for some time +rendered ineffectual. But at length the marquis, from the ardour of his +temper seemed to lay aside his guard, and the count de St. Julian, by +a sudden thrust, run his antagonist through the body. The marquis +immediately fell, and having uttered one groan, he expired. The sword +entered at the left breast, and proceeded immediately to the heart. + +The count, instead of appearing at all disturbed at this event, or +attempting to embrace the opportunity of flight, advanced immediately +towards the body, and bending over it, seemed to survey its traits with +the profoundest attention. The surgeon who had attended, came up at +this instant, but presently perceived that his art was become totally +useless. During however this short examination, the count de St. Julian +recovered from his reverie, and addressing himself to me, "My lord," +said he, "I shall not attempt to fly from the laws of my country. I am +indeed the challenger, but I have done nothing, but upon the matures! +deliberation, and I shall at all times be ready to answer my conduct." +Though I considered this mode of proceeding as extremely singular I did +not however think it became me, as the friend of the marquis of Pescara, +to oppose his resolution. He has accordingly entered into a recognizance +before the gonfaloniere, to appear at a proper time to take his trial at +the city of Naples. + +Madam, I thought it my duty to be thus minute in relating the +particulars of this unfortunate affair. I shall not descend to any +animadversions upon the conduct and language of the count de St. Julian. +They will come to be examined and decided upon in a proper place. In the +mean time permit me to offer my sincerest condolences upon the loss you +have sustained in the death of my amiable friend. If it be in my power +to be of service to your ladyship, with respect to the funeral, or any +other incidental affairs, you may believe that I shall account it my +greatest honour to alleviate in any degree the misfortune you have +suffered. With the sincerest wishes for the welfare of yourself and your +amiable son, I have the honour to be, + +Madam, + +Your most obedient and very faithful servant, + +The marquis of San Severino. + + + +Letter XVII + +_The Answer_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +My lord, + +You were not mistaken when you supposed that the subject of your +letter would both afflict and surprize me in the extremest degree. The +unfortunate event to which it principally relates, is such as cannot but +affect me nearly. And separate from this, there is a veil of mystery +that hangs over the horrid tale, behind which I dare not pry, but with +the most trembling anxiety, but which will probably in a very short time +be totally removed. + +Your lordship, I am afraid, is but too well acquainted with the history +of the correspondence between myself and my deceased lord. I was given +to understand that the count de St. Julian was married to the daughter +of the duke of Aranda. I thought I had but too decisive evidence of the +veracity of the story. And you, my lord, I remember, were one of the +witnesses by which it was confirmed. Yet how is this to be reconciled +with the present catastrophe? Can I suppose that the count, after being +settled in Spain, should have deserted these connexions, in order +to come over again to that country in which he had forfeited all +pretensions to character and reputation, and to commence a quarrel so +unjust and absurd, with the man to whom he was bound by so numerous +obligations? + +My lord, I have revolved all the circumstances that are communicated +to me in your alarming letter. The oftener I peruse it, and the more +maturely I consider them, the more does it appear that the count de St. +Julian has all the manners of conscious innocence and injured truth. It +is impossible for an impostor to have acted throughout with an air so +intrepid and superior. Your lordship's account, so far as it relates to +the marquis, is probably the account of a friend, but it is impossible +not to perceive, that his behaviour derives no advantage from being +contrasted with that of his antagonist. + +You will readily believe, that it has cost me many efforts to assemble +all these thoughts, and to deliver these reasonings in so connected a +manner. At first my prejudices against the poor and unprotected stranger +were so deeply rooted, that I had no suspicion of their injustice. I +regarded the whole as a dream; I considered every circumstance as beyond +the cognizance of reason, and founded entirely in madness and frenzy. +I painted to myself the count de St. Julian, whom I had known for a +character so tender and sincere, as urged along with all the stings of +guilt, and agitated with all the furies of remorse. I at once pitied his +sufferings, and lamented their mortal and destructive consequences. I +regarded yourself and every person concerned in the melancholy affair, +as actuated by the same irrational spirit, and united to overwhelm one +poor, trembling, and defenceless woman. + +But the delusion was of no long continuance. I soon perceived that it +was impossible for a maniac to be suffered to proceed to so horrid +extremities. I perceived in every thing that related to the count, +a spirit very different from that of frenzy. It is thus that I have +plunged from uncertainty to uncertainty. From adopting a solution wild +and absurd, I am thrown back upon a darkness still more fearful, and am +lost in conjectures of the most tremendous nature. + +And where is it that I am obliged to refer my timid enquiries? Alas, I +have no friend upon whose bosom to support myself, I have no relation to +interest in my cause. I am forlorn, forsaken and desolate. By nature +not formed for defence, not braced to encounter the storms of calamity, +where shall I hide my unprotected head? Forgive me, my lord, if I am +mistaken; pardon the ravings of a distracted mind. It is possible I am +obliged to recur to him from whom all my misfortunes took their source, +who has guided unseen all those movements to which this poor and broken +heart is the sacrifice. Perhaps the words that now flow from my pen, +are directed to the disturber of my peace, the interceptor of all that +happiness most congenial to my heart, the murderer of my husband! + +Where, in the mean time, where is this countess, this dreaded rival? +You, my lord, have perhaps ere this time seen her. Tell me, what are +those ineffable charms that seduced a heart which was once so constant? +St. Julian was never mercenary, and I have a fortune that might have +filled out his most unbounded wishes. What is that strange fascination, +what that indescribable enchantment, that sunk a character so glorious, +that libertines venerated, and the friends of virtue adored, to a depth +so low and irretrievable? I have thought much of it, I have turned it +every way in my mind, but I can never understand it. The more I reflect +the further I am bewildered. + +But whither am I wandering? What strange passion is it, that I so +carefully suppressed, over which I so loudly triumphed, that now bursts +its limits? How fatal and deplorable is that train of circumstances, +that brings a name, that was once inscribed on my heart, to my +remembrance, accompanied with attendants, that awaken all my tenderness, +and breathe new life into each forgotten endearment! Is it for me, a +wife, a mother, to entertain these guilty thoughts? And can they respect +him by whose fatal hand my husband fell? How low is the once spotless +Matilda della Colonna sunk! + +But I will not give way to this dereliction and despair. I think my +heart is not made of impenetrable stuff. I think I cannot long survive +afflictions thus complicated, and trials thus severe. But so long as I +remain in this world of calamity, I will endeavour to act in a manner +not unworthy of myself. I will not disgrace the race from which I +sprung. Whatever others may do, I will not dishonour the family to which +I am united. I may be miserable, but I will not be guilty. I may be a +monument of anguish, but I will not be an example of degeneracy. + +Gracious heaven! if I have been deceived, what a train of artifice and +fraud rushes upon my terrified recollection? How carefully have all my +passions, in the unguarded hour of anguish and misery, been wrought and +played upon? All the feelings of a simple and undissembling mind have +been roused by turns, to excite me to a deed, from which rectitude +starts back with horror, which integrity blushes to look on! And have I +been this poor and abject tool in the hand of villains? And are there +hearts cool and obdurate enough, to watch all the trembling starts of +wretchedness, to seduce the heart that has given itself up to despair? +Can they look on with frigid insensibility, can they behold distress +with no other eye but that of interest, with no other watch but that +which discovers how it may be disgraced for ever? Oh, wretched Matilda! +whither, whither hast thou been plunged! + +My memory is up in arms. I cannot now imagine how I was induced to +so decisive and adventurous a step. But I was full of the anguish of +disappointment, and the resentment of despair. How assiduously was I +comforted? What sympathy, what angelic tenderness seemed to flow from +the lips of him, in whose heart perhaps there dwelt every dishonourable +and unsated passion? It was all a chaos. My heart was tumultuous hurry, +without leisure for retrospect, without a moment for deliberation. And +do I dare to excuse myself? Was I not guilty, unpardonably guilty? Oh, +a mind that knew St. Julian should have waited for ages, should have +revolved every circumstance a thousand times, should have disbelieved +even the evidence of sense, and the demonstration of eternal truth! +Accursed precipitation! Most wicked speed! No, I have not suffered half +what I have deserved. Heap horrors on me, thou dreadful dispenser of +avenging providence! I will not complain. I will expire in the midst of +agonies without a groan! + +But these thoughts must be banished from my heart for ever. Wretched as +I am, I am not permitted the consolation of penitence, I am not free to +accuse and torment myself. No, that step has been taken which can never +be repealed. The marquis of Pescara was my husband, and whatever were +his true character, I will not crush his memory and his fame. I have, +I fear, unadvisedly entered into connexions, and entailed upon myself +duties. But these connexions shall now be sacred; these duties shall be +discharged to the minutest tittle. Oh, poor and unprotected orphan, thou +art cast upon the world without a friend! But thou shalt never want the +assiduity of a mother. Thou, at least, are guileless and innocent. +Thou shalt be my only companion. To watch over thee shall be the sole +amusement that Matilda will henceforth indulge herself. That thou wilt +remind me of my errors, that I shall trace in thee gradually as thy +years advance, the features of him to whom my unfortunate life owed all +its colour, will but make thee a more proper companion, an object more +congenial to the sorrows of my soul. + + + +Letter XVIII + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marchioness of Pescara + +Cerenzo_ + +Madam, + +You may possibly before this letter comes to your hands have learned an +event that very nearly interests both you and me. If you have not, it is +not in my power at this time to collect together the circumstances, and +reduce them to the form of a narration. The design of my present letter +is of a very different kind. Shall I call that a design, which is the +consequence of an impulse urging me forward, without the consent of my +will, and without time for deliberation? + +I write this letter with a hand dyed with the blood of your husband. Let +not the idea startle you. Matilda is advanced too far to be frightened +with bugbears. What, shall a mind inured to fickleness and levity, +a mind that deserted, without reason and without remorse, the most +constant of lovers, and that recked not the consequences, shall such a +mind be terrified at the sight of the purple blood, or be moved from its +horrid tranquility by all the tragedies that an universe can furnish? + +Matilda, I have slain your husband, and I glory in the deed. I will +answer it in the face of day. I will defy that man to come forward, +and when he views the goary, lifeless corse, say to me with a tone of +firmness and conviction, "Thou hast done wrong." + +And now I have but one business more with life. It is to arraign the +fair and traiterous author of all my misfortunes. Start not at the black +catalogue. Flinch not from the detail of infernal mischief. The mind +that knows how to perpetrate an action, should know how to hear the +story of it repeated, and to answer it in all its circumstances. + +Matilda, I loved you. Alas, this is to say little! All my thoughts had +you for their centre. I was your slave. With you I could encounter +tenfold calamity, and call it happiness. Banished from you, the world +was a colourless and confused chaos. One moment of displeasure, one +interval of ambiguous silence crouded my imagination with every frantic +apprehension. One smile, one word of soft and soothing composition, fell +upon my soul like odoriferous balm, was a dulcet and harmonious sound, +that soothed my anguish into peace, that turned the tempest within me +to that still and lifeless calm, where not a breath disturbs the vast +serene. + +And this is the passion you have violated. You have trampled upon a +lover, who would have sacrificed his life to save that tender and +enchanting frame from the impression of a thorn. And yet, Matilda, if +it had been only a common levity, I would have pardoned it. If you had +given your hand to the first chance comer, I would have drenched the cup +of woe in solitude and darkness. Not one complaint from me should have +reached your ear. If you could have found tranquility and contentment, I +would not have been the avenging angel to blast your prospects. + +But there are provocations that the human heart cannot withstand. I did +not come from the hand of nature callous and intrepid, I was the stoic +of philosophy and reason. To lose my mistress and my friend at once. To +lose them!--Oh, ten thousand deaths would have been mercy to the loss! +Had they been tossed by tempests, had they been torn from my eyes by +whirlwinds, I would have viewed the scene with eye-balls of stiffened +horn. But to find all that upon which I had placed my confidence, upon +which I rested my weary heart, foul and false at once: to have those +bosoms, in which I fondly thought I reigned adored, combined in one +damned plot to overwhelm and ruin me--Indeed, Matilda, it was too much! + +Well, well. Be at peace my soul. I have taken my revenge. But revenge is +not a passion congenial to the spirit of St. Julian. It was once soft +and tender as a babe. You might have bended and moulded it into what +form you pleased. But I know not how it is, it is now remorseless and +unfeeling as a rock. I have swam in horror, and I am not satiated. +I could hear tales of distress, and I could laugh at their fancied +miseries. I could view all the tragedies of battle, and walk up and down +amidst seas of blood with tranquility. It is well. I did not think I +could have done all this. But inexplicable and almighty providence +strengthens, indurates the heart for the scenes of detestation to which +it is destined. + +And is it Rinaldo that I have slain? That friend that I held a thousand +times to my bosom, that friend over whose interests I have watched +without weariness? Many a time have I dropped the tear of oblivion over +his youthful wanderings. I exulted in the fruits of all my toil. Yes, +Matilda, I have seen the drops of sacred pity bedew his cheek. I have +seen his bosom heave with generous resentment, and heroic resolution. +Oh, there was a time, when the author of nature might have looked down +upon his work, and said, "This is a man." What benefits did not I +receive from his munificent character, and wide extended hand? + +And who made me his judge and his avenger? What right had I to thrust my +sword into his heart? He now lies a lifeless corse. Upon his breast +I see the gaping and death-giving wound. The blood bursts forth in +continued streams. His hair is clotted with it. That cheek, that lately +glowed, is now pale and sallow. All his features are deformed. The fire +in his eye is extinguished for ever. Who has done this? What wanton and +sacrilegious hand has dared deface the work of God? It could not be his +preceptor, the man upon whom he heaped a thousand benefits? It could not +be his friend? Oh, Rinaldo, all thy errors lie buried in the damp and +chilly tomb, but thy blood shall for ever rise to accuse me! + + + +Letter XIX + +_The Marquis of San Severino to the Marchioness of Pescara + +Naples_ + +Madam, + +I have just received a letter from your ladyship which gives me the +utmost pain. I am sincerely afflicted at the unfortunate concern I have +had in the melancholy affairs that have caused you so much uneasiness. I +expected indeed that the sudden death of so accomplished and illustrious +a character as your late husband, must have produced in a breast +susceptible as yours, the extremest distress. But I did not imagine that +you would have been so overwhelmed with the event, as to have forgotten +the decorums of your station, and to have derogated from the dignity of +your character. Madam, I sincerely sympathize in the violence of +your affliction, and I earnestly wish that you may soon recover that +self-command, which rendered your behaviour upon all occasions a model +of elegance, propriety and honour. + +Your ladyship proposes certain questions to me in your epistle of a very +singular nature. You will please to remember, that they will for the +most part be brought in a few days before a court of judicature. I must +therefore with all humility intreat you to excuse me from giving them a +direct answer. There would be an impropriety in a person, so illustrious +in rank, and whose voice is of considerable weight in the state, +forestalling the inferior courts upon these subjects. One thing however +I am at liberty to mention, and your ladyship may be assured, that in +any thing in my power I should place my highest felicity in gratifying +you. There was indeed some misinformation upon the subject; but I have +now the honour to inform you from authority upon which I depend, that +the count de St. Julian is now, and has always remained single. I +believe there never was any negociation of marriage between him and the +noble house of Aranda. + +Madam, it gives me much uneasiness, that your ladyship should entertain +the smallest suspicion of any impropriety in my behaviour in these +affairs. I believe the conduct of no man has been more strictly +conformed, in all instances, to the laws of decorum than my own. Objects +of no small magnitude, have upon various occasions passed under my +inspection, and you will be so obliging as to believe that upon no +occasion has my veracity been questioned, or the integrity of my +character suffered the smallest imputation. The rectitude of my actions +is immaculate, and my honour has been repeatedly asserted with my sword. + +Your ladyship will do me the favour to believe, that though I cannot +but regard your suspicions as equally cruel and unjust, I shall never +entertain the smallest resentment upon their account. I have the honour +to be, with all possible deference and esteem, + +Madam, + +Your ladyship's most faithful servant, + +The marquis of San Severino. + + + +Letter XX + +_The Count de St. Julian to Signor Hippolito Borelli + +Leontini_ + +My dear friend, + +Travelling through the various countries of Europe, and expanding your +philosophical mind to embrace the interests of mankind, you still are +so obliging as to take the same concern in the transactions of your +youthful friend as ever. I shall therefore confine myself in the letter +which I now steal the leisure to write, to the relation of those events, +of which you are probably as yet uninformed. If I were to give scope to +the feelings of my heart, with what, alas, should I present you but a +circle of repetitions, which, however important they may appear to +me, could not but be dull and tedious to any person less immediately +interested? + +As I pursued with greater minuteness the enquiries I had begun before +you quitted the kingdom of the two Sicilies, I found the arguments still +increasing upon me, which tended to persuade me of the innocence of +Matilda. Oh, my friend, what a letter did I address to her in the height +of my frenzy and despair? Every word spoke daggers, and that in a moment +when the tragical event of which I was the author, must naturally have +overwhelmed her with astonishment and agony. Yes, Hippolito, this action +must remain an eternal blot upon my character. Years of penitence could +not efface it, floods of tears could not wash it away. + +But before I had satisfied my curiosity in this pursuit, the time +approached in which it was necessary for me to take a public trial at +Naples. This scene was to me a solemn one. The blood of my friend sat +heavy at my heart. It is true no provocation could have been more +complicated than that I had received. Take it from me, Hippolito, as my +most mature and serious determination, that a Gothic revenge is beneath +the dignity of a man. It did not become me, who had aimed at the +character of unaccommodating virtue, to appear in defence of an action +that my heart disallowed. To stand forward before the delegated power of +my country with the stain of blood upon me, was not a scene for a man of +sensibility to act in. But the decision of my judges was more indulgent +than the verdict of my own mind. + +One of the persons who was most conspicuous upon this occasion, was the +marquis of San Severino. Hippolito, it is true, I have been hurried into +many actions that have caused me the severest regret. But I would not +for ten thousand worlds have that load of guilt upon my mind, that this +man has to answer for. And yet he bore his head aloft. He was placid and +serene. He was even disengaged and gay. He talked in as round a tone, +of honour and integrity, of veracity and virtue, as if his life were +spotless, and his heart immaculate. The circumstances however that +came out in the progress of the affair, were in the highest degree +disadvantageous to him. The general indignation and hatred seemed +gradually to swell against him, like the expansive surges of the ocean. +A murmur of disapprobation was heard from every side, proceeded from +every mouth. Even this accomplished villain at length hung his head. +When the court was dissolved, he was encountered with hisses and scorn +from the very lowest of the people. It was only by the most decisive +exertions of the guards of the palace, that he was saved from being torn +to pieces by the fury of the populace. + +You will be surprized to perceive that this letter is dated at the +residence of my fathers. Fourteen days ago I was summoned hither by the +particular request of my brother, who had been seized with a violent +epidemical distemper. It was extremely sudden in its operation, and +before I arrived he was no more. He had confessed however to one of the +friends of our house, before he expired, that he had forged the will of +my father, instigated by the surprize and disappointment he had felt, +when he understood that that father, whom he had employed so many +unjustifiable means to prepossess, had left his whole estate, exclusive +of a very small annuity, to his eldest son. Since I have been here, I +have been much employed in arranging the affairs of the family, which, +from the irregular and extemporary manner in which my brother lived, I +found in considerable disorder. + + + +Letter XXI + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marchioness of Pescara_ + + +_Leontini_ + +Madam, + +I have waited with patience for the expiration of twelve months, that +I might not knowingly be guilty of any indecorum, or intrude upon that +sorrow, which the tragical fate of the late marquis so justly claimed. +But how shall I introduce the subject upon which I am now to address +you? Where shall I begin this letter? Or with what arguments may I best +propitiate the anger I have so justly incensed, and obtain that boon +upon which the happiness of my future life is so entirely suspended? + +Among all the offences of which I have been guilty, against the simplest +and gentlest mind that ever adorned this mortal stage, there is none +which I less pardon to myself, than that unjust and precipitate letter, +which I was so inconsiderate as to address to you immediately after I +had steeped my hand in the murder of your husband. Was it for me, who +had so much reason to be convinced of the innocence and disinterested +truth of Matilda, to harbour suspicions so black, or rather to affront +her with charges, the most hideous and infamous? What crime is +there more inexcusable, than that of attributing to virtue all the +concomitants of vice, of casting all those bitter taunts, all that +aggravated and triumphant opprobrium in the face of rectitude, that +ought to be reserved only for the most profligate of villains? Yes, +Matilda, I trampled at once upon the exemptions of your sex, upon +the sanctity of virtue, upon the most inoffensive and undesigning of +characters. And yet all this were little. + +What a time was it that I chose for an injury so atrocious! A beautiful +and most amiable woman had just been deprived, by an unforeseen event, +of that husband, with whom but a little before she had entered into the +most sacred engagements. The state of a widow is always an afflictive +and unprotected one. Rank does not soften, frequently aggravates the +calamity. A tragedy had just been acted, that rendered the name of +Matilda the butt of common fame, the subject of universal discussion. +How painful and humiliating must this situation have been to that +anxious and trembling mind; a mind whose highest ambition coveted only +the tranquility that reigns in the shade of retreat, the silence and +obscurity that the wisest of philosophers have asserted to be the most +valuable reputation of her sex? Such was the affliction, in which I +might then have known that the mistress of my heart was involved. + +But I have since learned a circumstance before which all other +aggravations of my inhumanity fade away. The moment that I chose for +wanton insult and groundless arraignment, was the very moment in which +Matilda discovered all the horrid train of hypocrisy and falsehood by +which she had been betrayed. What a shock must it have given to her +gentle and benevolent mind, that had never been conscious to one +vicious temptation, that had never indulged the most distant thought of +malignity, to have found herself surprized into a conduct, to the nature +of which she had been a stranger, and which her heart disavowed? Of all +the objects of compassion that the universe can furnish, there is none +more truly affecting, than that of an artless and unsuspecting mind +insnared by involuntary guilt. The astonishment with which it is +overwhelmed, is vast and unqualified. The remorse with which it +is tortured, are totally unprepared and unexpected, and have been +introduced by no previous gradation. It is true, the involuntarily +culpable may in some sense be pronounced wholly innocent. The guilty +mind is full of prompt excuses, and ready evasions, but the untainted +spirit, not inured to the sophistry of vice, cannot accommodate itself +with these subterfuges. If such be the state of vulgar minds involved +in this unfortunate situation, what must have been that of so soft and +inoffensive a spirit? + +Oh, Matilda, if tears could expiate such a crime, ere this I had been +clear as the guileless infant. If incessant and bitter reproaches could +overweigh a guilt of the first magnitude, mine had been obliterated. But +no; the words I wrote were words of blood. Each of them was a barbed +arrow pointed at the heart. There was no management, there was no +qualification. And when we add to this the object against which all my +injuries were directed, what punishment can be discovered sufficiently +severe? The mind that invented it, must have been callous beyond all +common hardness. The hand that wrote it must be accursed for ever. + +And yet, Matilda, it is not merely pardon that I seek. Even that would +be balm to my troubled spirit. It would somewhat soften the harsh +outlines, and the aggravated features of a crime, which I shall never, +never forgive to my own heart. But no, think, most amiable of women, of +the height of felicity I once had full in view, and excuse my present +presumption. While indeed my mind was guiltless, and my hand unstained +with blood, while I had not yet insulted the woman to whose affections I +aspired, nor awakened the anger of the gentlest nature, of a heart made +up of goodness, and tenderness and sympathy, I might have aspired with +somewhat less of arrogance. Neither your heart nor mine, Matilda, were +ever very susceptible to the capricious distinctions of fortune. + +But, alas, how hard is it for a mind naturally ambitious to mould and to +level itself to a state of degradation. Believe me, I have put forth an +hundred efforts, I have endeavoured to blot your memory from a soul, in +which it yet does, and ever will reign unrivalled. No, it is to fight +with impassive air, it is to lash the foaming tempest into a calm. Time, +which effaces all other impressions, increases that which is indelibly +written upon my heart. A man whose countenance is pale and wan, and who +every day approaches with hasty and unremitted strides to the tomb, may +forget his situation, may call up a sickly smile upon his countenance, +and lull his mind to lethargy and insensibility. Such, Matilda, is all +the peace reserved for me, if yet I have no power in influencing the +determinations of your mind. Stupidity, thou must be my happiness! +Torpor, I will bestow upon thee all the endearing names, that common +mortals give to rapture! + +And yet, Matilda, if I retain any of that acute sensibility to virtue +and to truth, in which I once prided myself, there can be no conduct +more proper to the heir of the illustrious house of Colonna, than that +which my heart demands. You have been misguided into folly. What is more +natural to an ingenuous heart, than to cast back the following scandal +upon the foul and detested authors, with whom the wrong originated. You +have done that, which if all your passions had been hushed into silence, +and the whole merits of the cause had lain before you, you would never +have done. What reparation, Matilda, does a clear and generous spirit +dictate, but that of honestly and fearlessly acknowledging the mistake, +treading back with readiness and haste the fatal path, and embracing +that line of conduct which a deliberate judgment, and an informed +understanding would always have dictated? + +Is it not true,--tell me, thou mistress of my soul,--that upon your +determination in this one instance all your future reputation is +suspended? Accept the hand of him that adores you, and the truth will +shine forth in all its native splendour, and none but the blind can +mistake it. Refuse him, and vulgar souls will for ever confound you +with the unfortunate Rinaldo, and his detested seducer. Fame, beloved +charmer, is not an object that virtuous souls despise. To brave the +tongue of slander cannot be natural to the gentle and timid spirit of +Matilda. + +But, oh, I dare not depend upon the precision of logic, and the +frigidity of argumentation. Let me endeavour to awaken the compassion +and humanity of your temper. Recollect all the innocent and ecstatic +endearments with which erewhile our hours were winged. Never was +sublunary happiness so pure and unmingled. It was tempered with the +mildest and most unbounded sympathy, it was refined and elevated with +all the sublimity of virtue. These happy, thrice happy days, you, and +only you, can recall. Speak but the word, and time shall reverse his +course, and a new order of things shall commence. Think how much virtue +depends upon your fiat. Satisfied with felicity ourselves, our hearts +will overflow with benevolence for the world. Never will misery pass us +unrelieved, never shall we remit the delightful task of seeking out the +modest and the oppressed in their obscure retreat. We will set mankind +an example of integrity and goodness. We will retrieve the original +honours of the wedded state. Methinks, I could rouze the most lethargic +and unanimated with my warning voice! Methinks, I could breathe a spirit +into the dead! Oh, Matilda, let me inspire ambition into your breast! +Let me teach that tender and right gentle heart, to glow with a mutual +enthusiasm! + + + + +Letter XXII + + +_The Answer_ + +_Cosenza_ + +My lord, It is now three weeks since I received that letter, in which +you renew the generous offer of your hand. Believe me, I am truly +sensible of the obligation, and it shall for ever live in my grateful +heart. I am not now the same Matilda you originally addressed. I have +acted towards you in an inexcusable manner. I have forfeited that +spotless character which was once my own. All this you knew, and all +this did not deter you. My lord, for this generosity and oblivion, once +again, and from the bottom of my heart, I thank you. + +But it is not only in these respects, that the marchioness of Pescara +differs from the daughter of the duke of Benevento. Those poor charms, +my lord, which were once ascribed to me, have long been no more. The +hand of grief is much more speedy and operative in its progress than the +icy hand of age. Its wrinkles are already visible in my brow. The floods +of tears I have shed have already furrowed my cheeks. But oh, my lord, +it is not grief; that is not the appellation it claims. They are the +pangs of remorse, they are the cries of never dying reproach with +which I am agitated. Think how this tarnishes the heart and blunts the +imagination. Think how this subdues all the aspirations of innocence, +and unnerves all the exertions of virtue. Perhaps I was, flattery and +friendship had at least taught me to think myself, something above the +common level. But indeed, my lord, I am now a gross and a vulgar soul. +All the nicer touches are fretted and worn away. All those little +distinctions, those minuter delicacies I might once possess are +obliterated. My heart is coarse and callous. Others, of the same +standard that I am now, may have the same confidence in themselves, the +same unconsciousness of a superior, as nature's most favoured children. +But I am continually humbled by the sense of what I was. + +These things, my lord, I mention as considerations that have some +weight with me, and ought perfectly to reconcile you to my unalterable +determination. But these, I will ingenuously confess, are not the +considerations that absolutely decide me. You cannot but sufficiently +recollect the title I bear, and the situation in which I am placed. The +duties of the marchioness of Pescara are very different from those by +which I was formerly bound. Does it become a woman of rank and condition +to fling dishonour upon the memory of him to whom she gave her hand, or, +as you have expressed it, to cast back the scandal to which she may be +exposed upon the author with whom it originated? No, my lord: I must +remember the family into which I have entered, and I will never give +them cause to curse the day upon which Matilda della Colonna was +numbered among them. What, a wife, a widow, to proclaim with her own +mouth her husband for a villain? You cannot think it. It were almost +enough to call forth the mouldering ashes from the cincture of the tomb. + +My lord, it would not become me to cast upon a name so virtuous and +venerable as yours, the whisper of a blame. I will not pretend to argue +with you the impropriety and offence of a Gothic revenge. But it is +necessary upon a subject so important as that which now employs my pen, +to be honest and explicit. It is not a time for compliment, it is not +a moment for disguise and fluctuation. Whatever were the merits of the +contest, I cannot forget that your hand is deformed with the blood of my +husband. My lord, you have my sincerest good wishes. I bear you none +of that ill will and covert revenge, that are equally the disgrace of +reason and Christianity. But you have placed an unsuperable barrier +between us. You have sunk a gulph, fathomless and immeasurable. For us +to meet, would not be more contrary to the factitious dignity of rank, +than shocking to the simple and unadulterated feelings of our nature. +The world, the general voice would cry shame upon it. Propriety, +decency, unchanged and eternal truth forbid it. + +Yet once more. I have a son. He is all the consolation and comfort that +is left me. To watch over his infancy is my most delightful, and most +virtuous task. I have filled the character, neither of a mistress, nor a +wife, in the manner my ambition aimed at. I have yet one part left, and +that perhaps the most venerable of all, the part of a mother. Excellent, +and exalted name! thee I will never disgrace! Not for one moment will I +forget thee, not in one iota shalt thou be betrayed! + +My lord, I write this letter in my favourite haunt, where indeed I pass +hour after hour in the only pleasure that is left me, the nursery of my +child. At this moment I cast my eyes upon him, and he answers me with +the most artless and unapprehensive smile in the world. No, beloved +infant! I will never injure thee! I will never be the author of thy +future anguish! He seems, St. Julian, to solicit, that I would love him +always, and behold him with an unaltered tenderness. Yes, my child, I +will be always thy mother. From that character I will never derogate. +That name shall never be lost in another, however splendid, or however +attractive. Were I to hear you, my lord, they would tear him from my +arms, and I should commend their justice. I should see him no more. +These eyes would no longer be refreshed with that artless and adorable +visage. I should no longer please myself with pouring the accents of +my sorrow into his unconscious ear. Obdurate, unfeeling, relentless, +unnatural mother! These would be the epithets by which I should best be +known. These would be the sentiments of every heart. This would be the +unbought voice, even of those vulgar souls, in which penury had most +narrowed the conceptions, and repressed the enthusiasm of virtue. It is +true, my lord, Matilda is sunk very low. The finger of scorn has pointed +at her, and the whisper of unfeeling curiosity respecting her, has run +from man to man. But yet it shall have its limits. My resolution is +unalterable. To this I will never come. + +My lord, among those arguments which you so well know how to urge, you +have told me, that the cause you plead, is the cause of benevolence +and charity. You say, that felicity would open our hearts, and teach our +bosoms to overflow. But surely this is not the general progress of the +human character. I had been taught to believe, and I hope I have found +it true, that misfortune softens the disposition, and bids compassion +take a deeper root. It shall be ever my aim, to make this improvement of +those wasting sorrows, with which heaven has seen fit to visit me. For +you, I am not to learn what is your generous and god like disposition. +My lord, I will confess a circumstance, for which I know not whether +I ought to blush. Animated by that sympathetic concern, which I once +innocently took in all that related to you, I have made the most minute +enquiries respecting your retreat at Leontini. I shall never be afraid, +that the man, whose name dwells in the sweetest accents upon the lips of +the distressed, and is the consolation and the solace of the helpless +and the orphan, will degenerate into hardness. Go on, my lord! You are +in the path of virtue. You are in the line that heaven chalked out for +you. You will be the ornament of humanity, and your country's boast to +the latest posterity. + +FINIS + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Italian Letters, Vols. I and II, by William Godwin + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ITALIAN LETTERS, VOLS. 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Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/9299-8.zip b/9299-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..93e5ded --- /dev/null +++ b/9299-8.zip diff --git a/9299.txt b/9299.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9049405 --- /dev/null +++ b/9299.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4128 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Italian Letters, Vols. I and II, by William Godwin + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Italian Letters, Vols. I and II + or, The History of the Count de St. Julian + +Author: William Godwin + +Posting Date: August 7, 2012 [EBook #9299] +Release Date: November, 2005 +First Posted: September 18, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ITALIAN LETTERS, VOLS. I AND II *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David Widger and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + + +ITALIAN LETTERS + +Or + +The History of the Count de St. Julian + +By + +WILLIAM GODWIN + +Edited and with an Introduction by BURTON R. POLLIN [Blank Page] +_Italian Letters_ + +_Volume I_ + + + + +Letter I + + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Palermo_ + +My dear lord, + +It is not in conformity to those modes which fashion prescribes, that I +am desirous to express to you my most sincere condolence upon the death +of your worthy father. I know too well the temper of my Rinaldo to +imagine, that his accession to a splendid fortune and a venerable title +can fill his heart with levity, or make him forget the obligations he +owed to so generous and indulgent a parent. It is not the form of sorrow +that clouds his countenance. I see the honest tear of unaffected grief +starting from his eye. It is not the voice of flattery, that can render +him callous to the most virtuous and respectable feelings that can +inform the human breast. + +I remember, my lord, with the most unmingled pleasure, how fondly +you used to dwell upon those instances of paternal kindness that you +experienced almost before you knew yourself. I have heard you describe +with how benevolent an anxiety the instructions of a father were always +communicated, and with what rapture he dwelt upon the early discoveries +of that elevated and generous character, by which my friend is so +eminently distinguished. Never did the noble marquis refuse a single +request of this son, or frustrate one of the wishes of his heart. His +last prayers were offered for your prosperity, and the only thing that +made him regret the stroke of death, was the anguish he felt at parting +with a beloved child, upon whom all his hopes were built, and in whom +all his wishes centred. + +Forgive me, my friend, that I employ the liberty of that intimacy with +which you have honoured me, in reminding you of circumstances, which I +am not less sure that you revolve with a melancholy pleasure, than I am +desirous that they should live for ever in your remembrance. That +sweet susceptibility of soul which is cultivated by these affectionate +recollections, is the very soil in which virtue delights to spring. +Forgive me, if I sometimes assume the character of a Mentor. I would not +be so grave, if the love I bear you could dispense with less. + +The breast of my Rinaldo swells with a thousand virtuous sentiments. I +am conscious of this, and I will not disgrace the confidence I ought to +place in you. But your friend cannot but be also sensible, that you are +full of the ardour of youth, that you are generous and unsuspecting, and +that the happy gaiety of your disposition sometimes engages you with +associates, that would abuse your confidence and betray your honour. + +Remember, my dear lord, that you have the reputation of a long list of +ancestors to sustain. Your house has been the support of the throne, +and the boast of Italy. You are not placed in an obscure station, +where little would be expected from you, and little would be the +disappointment, though you should act in an imprudent or a vicious +manner. The antiquity of your house fixes the eyes of your countrymen +upon you. Your accession at so early a period to its honours and its +emoluments, renders your situation particularly critical. + +But if your situation be critical, you have also many advantages, to +balance the temptations you may be called to encounter. Heaven has +blessed you with an understanding solid, judicious, and penetrating. You +cannot long be made the dupe of artifice, you are not to be misled by +the sophistry of vice. But you have received from the hands of the +munificent creator a much more valuable gift than even this, a manly and +a generous mind. I have been witness to many such benevolent acts of my +Rinaldo as have made my fond heart overflow with rapture. I have traced +his goodness to its hiding place. I have discovered instances of his +tenderness and charity, that were intended to be invisible to every +human eye. + +I am fully satisfied that the marquis of Pescara can never rank among +the votaries of vice and folly. It is not against the greater instances +of criminality that I wish to guard you. I am not apprehensive of a +sudden and a total degeneracy. But remember, my lord, you will, from +your situation, be inevitably surrounded with flatterers. You are +naturally fond of commendation. Do not let this generous instinct be the +means of disgracing you. You will have many servile parasites, who will +endeavour, by inuring you to scenes of luxury and dissipation, to divert +your charity from its noblest and its truest ends, into the means of +supporting them in their fawning dependence. Naples is not destitute of +a set of young noblemen, the disgrace of the titles they wear, who would +be too happy to seduce the representative of the marquisses of Pescara +into an imitation of their vices, and to screen their follies under so +brilliant and conspicuous an example. + +My lord, there is no misfortune that I more sincerely regret than the +loss of your society. I know not how it is, and I would willingly +attribute it to the improper fastidiousness of my disposition, that +I can find few characters in the university of Palermo, capable of +interesting my heart. With my Rinaldo I was early, and have been long +united; and I trust, that no force, but that of death, will be able to +dissolve the ties that bind us. Wherever you are, the heart of your St. +Julian is with you. Wherever you go, his best wishes accompany you. If +in this letter, I have assumed an unbecoming austerity, your lordship +will believe that it is the genuine effusion of anxiety and friendship, +and will pardon me. It is not that I am more exempt from youthful folly +than others. Born with a heart too susceptible for my peace, I am +continually guilty of irregularities, that I immediately wish, but am +unable to retract. But friendship, in however frail a bosom she resides, +cannot permit her own follies to dispense her from guarding those she +loves against committing their characters. + + + +Letter II + +_The Answer_ + +_Naples_ + +It is not necessary for me to assure my St. Julian, that I really felt +those sentiments of filial sorrow which he ascribes to me. Never did any +son sustain the loss of so indulgent a father. I have nothing by which +to remember him, but acts of goodness and favour; not one hour of +peevishness, not one instance of severity. Over all my youthful follies +he cast the veil of kindness. All my imaginary wants received a prompt +supply. Every promise of spirit and sensibility I was supposed to +discover, was cherished with an anxious and unremitting care. + +But such as he was to me, he was, in a less degree, to all his +domestics, and all his dependents. You can scarcely imagine what a +moving picture my palace--and must I call it mine? presented, upon my +first arrival. The old steward, and the grey-headed lacqueys endeavoured +to assume a look of complacency, but their recent grief appeared through +their unpractised hypocrisy. "Health to our young master! Long life," +cried they, with a broken and tremulous accent, "to the marquis of +Pescara!" You will readily believe, that I made haste to free them from +their restraint, and to assure them that the more they lamented my ever +honoured father, the more they would endear themselves to me. Their +looks thanked me, they clasped their hands with delight, and were +silent. + +The next morning as soon as I appeared, I perceived, as I passed along, +a whole crowd of people plainly, but decently habited, in the hall. +"Who are they?" said I. "I endeavoured to keep them off," said the old +steward, "but they would not be hindered. They said they were sure that +the young marquis would not bely the bounty of their old master, upon +which they had so long depended for the conveniences and comfort of +life." "And they shall not be kept off," said I; and advancing towards +them, I endeavoured to convince them, that, however unworthy of his +succession, I would endeavour to keep alive the spirit of their +benefactor, and would leave them as little reason as possible to regret +his loss. Oh! my St. Julian, who but must mourn so excellent a parent, +so amiable, so incomparable a man! + +But you talked to me of the flattering change in my situation. And shall +I confess to you the truth? I find nothing in it that flatters, nothing +that pleases me. I am told my revenues are more extensive. But what is +that to me? They were before sufficiently ample, and I had but to wish +at any time, in order to have them increased. But I am removed to the +metropolis of the kingdom, to the city in which the court of my master +resides, to the seat of elegance and pleasure. And yet, amidst all that +it offers, I sigh for the rural haunts of Palermo, its pleasant hills, +its fruitful vales, its simplicity and innocence. I sit down to a more +sumptuous table, I am surrounded with a more numerous train of servants +and dependents. But this comes not home to the heart of your Rinaldo. +I look in vain through all the circle for an equal and a friend. It is +true, when I repair to the levee of my prince, I behold many equals; but +they are strangers to me, their faces are dressed in studied smiles, +they appear all suppleness, complaisance and courtliness. A countenance, +fraught with art, and that carries nothing of the soul in it, is +uninteresting, and even forbidding in my eye. + +Oh! how long shall I be separated from my St. Julian? I am almost angry +with you for apologizing for your kind monitions and generous advice. If +my breast glows with any noble sentiments, it is to your friendship I +ascribe them. If I have avoided any of the rocks upon which heedless +youth is apt to split, yours is all the honour, though mine be the +advantage. More than one instance do I recollect with unfeigned +gratitude, in which I had passed the threshold of error, in which I had +already set my foot upon the edge of the precipice, and was reclaimed by +your care. But what temptations could the simple Palermo offer, compared +with the rich, the luxurious, and dissipated court of Naples? + +And upon this scene I am cast without a friend. My honoured father +indeed could not have been my companion, but his advice might have been +useful to me in a thousand instances. My St. Julian is at a distance +that my heart yearns to think of. Volcanos burn, and cataracts roar +between us. With caution then will I endeavour to tread the giddy +circle. Since I must, however unprepared, be my own master, I will +endeavour to be collected, sober, and determined. + +One expedient I have thought of, which I hope will be of service to me +in the new scene upon which I am to enter. I will think how my friend +would have acted, I will think that his eye is upon me, and I will make +it a law to myself to confess all my faults and follies to you. As you +have indulged me with your correspondence, you will allow me, I doubt +not, in this liberty, and will favour me from time to time with those +honest and unbiassed remarks upon my conduct, which it is consonant with +your character to make. + + + + +Letter III + +_The Same to the Same_ + +_Naples_ + +Since I wrote last to my dear count, I have been somewhat more in +public, and have engaged a little in the societies of this city. You can +scarcely imagine, my friend, how different the young gentlemen of Naples +are from my former associates in the university. You would hardly +suppose them of the same species. In Palermo, almost every man was cold, +uncivil and inattentive; and seemed to have no other purpose in view +than his own pleasure and accommodation. At Naples they are all good +nature and friendship. Your wishes, before you have time to express +them, are forestalled by the politeness of your companions, and each +seems to prefer the convenience and happiness of another to his own. + +With one young nobleman I am particularly pleased, and have chosen him +from the rest as my most intimate associate. It is the marquis of San +Severino. I shall endeavour by his friendship, as well as I can, to +make up to myself the loss of my St. Julian, of whose society I am +irremediably deprived. He does not indeed possess your abilities, he +has not the same masculine understanding, and the same delightful +imagination. But he supplies the place of these by an uninterrupted flow +of good humour. All his passions seem to be disinterested, and it would +do violence to every sentiment of his heart to be the author of a +moment's pain to another. + +Do not however imagine, my dear count, that my partiality to this +amiable young nobleman renders me insensible to the defects of his +character. Though his temper be all sweetness and gentleness, his views +are not the most extensive. He considers much more the present ease of +those about him, than their future happiness. He has not harshness, he +has not firmness enough in his character, shall I call it? to refuse +almost any request, however injudicious. He is therefore often led into +improper situations, and his reputation frequently suffers in a manner +that I am persuaded his heart does not deserve. + +The person of San Severino is tall, elegant and graceful. His manners +are singularly polite, and uniformly unembarassed. His voice is +melodious, and he is eminently endowed by nature with the gift of +eloquence. A person of your penetration will therefore readily imagine, +that his society is courted by the fair. His propensity to the tender +passion appears to have been very great, and he of consequence lays +himself out in a gallantry that I can by no means approve. + +Such, my dear count, appears to me to be the genuine and impartial +character of my new friend. His good nature, his benevolence, and the +pliableness of his disposition may surely be allowed to compensate for +many defects. He can indeed by no means supply the place of my St. +Julian. I cannot look up to him as a guide, and I believe I shall never +be weak enough to ask his advice in the conduct of my life. + +But do not imagine, my dear lord, that I shall be in much danger of +being misled by him into criminal irregularities. I feel a firmness of +resolution, and an ardour in the cause of virtue, that will, I trust, +be abundantly sufficient to set these poor temptations at defiance. +The world, before I entered it, appeared to me more formidable than it +really is. I had filled it with the bugbears of a wild imagination. +I had supposed that mankind made it their business to prey upon each +other. Pardon me, my amiable friend, if I take the liberty to say, that +my St. Julian was more suspicious than he needed to have been, when he +supposed that Naples could deprive me of the simplicity and innocence +that grew up in my breast under his fostering hand at Palermo. + + + + +Letter IV + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Palermo_ + +I rejoice with you sincerely upon the pleasures you begin to find in the +city of Naples. May all the days of my Rinaldo be happy, and all his +paths be strewed with flowers! It would have been truly to be lamented, +that melancholy should have preyed upon a person so young and so +distinguished by fortune, or that you should have sighed amidst all the +magnificence of Naples for the uncultivated plainness of Palermo. So +long as I reside here, your absence will constantly make me feel an +uneasy void, but it is my earnest wish that not a particle of that +uneasiness may reach my friend. + +Surely, my dear marquis, there are few correspondents so young as +myself, and who address a personage so distinguished as you, that deal +with so much honest simplicity, and devote so large a share of their +communications to the forbidding seriousness of advice. But you have +accepted the first effort of my friendship with generosity and candour, +and you will, I doubt not, continue to behold my sincerity with a +favourable eye. + +Shall I venture to say that I am sorry you have commenced so intimate a +connexion with the marquis of San Severino? Even the character of him +with which you have favoured me, represents him to my wary sight as too +agreeable not to be dangerous. But I have heard of him from others, a +much more unpleasing account. + +Alas, my friend, under how fair an outside are the most pernicious +principles often concealed! Your honest heart would not suspect, that an +appearance of politeness frequently covers the most rooted selfishness. +The man who is all gentleness and compliance abroad, is often a tyrant +among his domestics. The attendants upon a court put on their faces +as they put on their clothes. And it is only after a very long +acquaintance, after having observed them in their most unguarded hours, +that you can make the smallest discovery of their real characters. +Remember, my dear Rinaldo, the maxim of the incomparable philosopher of +Geneva: "Man is not naturally amiable." If the human character shews +less pleasing and attractive in the obscurity of retreat, and among the +unfinished personages of a college, believe me, the natives of a court +are not a whit more disinterested, or have more of the reality of +friendship. The true difference is, that the one wears a disguise, and +the other appear as they are. + +I do not mean however to impute all the faults I have mentioned to the +marquis of San Severino. He is probably in the vulgar sense of the word +good-natured. As you have already expressed it, he knows not how to +refuse the requests, or contradict the present inclinations of those +with whom he is connected. You say rightly that his gallantries are such +as you can by no means approve. He is, if I am not greatly misinformed, +in the utmost degree loose and debauched in his principles. The greater +part of his time is spent in the haunts of intemperance, and under the +roofs of the courtezan. I am afraid indeed he has gone farther than +this, and that he has not scrupled to ruin innocence, and practise all +the arts of seduction. + +There is, my dear Rinaldo, a species of careless and youthful vice, that +assumes the appearance of gentleness, and wears the garb of generosity. +It even pretends to the name of virtue. But it casts down all the sacred +barriers of religion. It laughs to scorn that suspicious vigilance, that +trembling sensibility, that is the very characteristic of virtue. It +represents those faults of which a man may be guilty without +malignity, as innocent. And it endeavours to appropriate to itself +all comprehensiveness of view, all true fortitude, and all liberal +generosity. + +Believe me, my friend, this is the enemy from which you have most to +fear. It is not barefaced degeneracy that can seduce you. She must +be introduced under a specious name, she must disguise herself like +something that nature taught us to approve, and she must steal away the +heart at unawares. + + + +Letter V + + +_The Answer_ + +_Naples_ + +I can never sufficiently acknowledge the friendship that appears in +every line of your obliging epistles. Even where your attachment is +rouzed without a sufficient cause, it is only upon that account the more +conspicuous. + +I took the liberty, my dear count, immediately after receiving your +last, to come to an explanation with San Severino. I mentioned to him +the circumstances in your letter, as affairs that had been casually +hinted to me. I told him, that I was persuaded he would excuse my +freedom, as I was certain there was some misinformation, and I could not +omit the opportunity of putting it in his power to justify himself. The +marquis expressed the utmost astonishment, and vowed by all that was +sacred, that he was innocent of the most important part of the charge. +He told me, that it was his ill fortune, and he supposed he was not +singular, to have enemies, that made it their business to misrepresent +every circumstance of his conduct. He had been calumniated, cruelly +calumniated, and could he discover the author of the aspersion, he would +vindicate his honour with his sword. In fine, he explained the whole +business in such a manner, as, though I could not entirely approve, yet +evinced it to be by no means subversive of the general amiableness of +his character. How deplorable is the situation in which we are placed, +when even the generous and candid temper of my St. Julian, can be +induced to think of a young nobleman in a light he does not deserve, and +to impute to him basenesses from which his heart is free! + +Soon after this interview I was introduced by my new friend into a +society of a more mixed and equivocal kind than I had yet seen. Do not +however impute to the marquis a surprize of which he was not guilty. He +fairly stated to me of what persons the company was to be composed; and +idle curiosity, and perhaps a particular gaiety of humour, under the +influence of which I then was, induced me to accept of his invitation. +If I did wrong, my dear count, blame me, and blame me without reserve. +But if I may judge from the disposition in which I left this house, I +only derived a new reinforcement to those resolutions, with which your +conversation and example first inspired me. + +It was in the evening, after the opera. The company was composed of +several of our young nobility, and an equal number of female performers +and other ladies of the same reputation. They almost immediately broke +into _tete-a-tetes_, and of consequence one of the ladies addressed +herself particularly to me. The vulgar familiarity of her manners, +and the undisguised libidinousness of her conversation, I must own, +disgusted me. Though I do not pretend to be devoid of the passions +incident to my age, I was not at all pleased with the addresses of this +female. As my companions were more active in the choice of an associate, +it may perhaps be only candid to own, that she was not the most pleasing +in the circle. The consciousness of the eyes of the whole party +embarrassed me. And the aukward attempts I made to detach myself from +my enamorata, as they proved unsuccessful, so they served to excite a +general smile. San Severino however presently perceived my situation, +and observing that I was by no means satisfied with my fortune, he with +the utmost politeness broke away from the company, and attended me home. + +How is it my dear friend that vice, whose property it should seem to +be, to hesitate and to tremble, should be able to assume this air of +confidence and composure? How is it that innocence, that surely should +always triumph, is thus liable to all the confusion and perplexity of +guilt? Why is virtue chosen, but because she is the parent of honour, +because she enables a man to look in the face the aspersions of calumny, +and to remain firm and undejected, amidst whatever fortune has of +adverse and capricious? And are these advantages merely imaginary? Are +composure and self-approbation common to the upright and the wicked? Or +do those who are most hardened, really possess the superiority; and can +conscious guilt bid defiance to shame, while rectitude is continually +liable to hide her head in confusion? + + + + +Letter VI + +_The Same to the Same_ + + +_Naples_ + +You will recollect, my St. Julian, that I promised to confess to you my +faults and my follies, and to take you for the umpire and director of +my conduct. Perhaps I have done wrong. Perhaps, though unconscious of +error, I am some how or other misled, and need your faithful hand to +lead me back again to the road of integrity. + +Why is it that I feel a reluctance to state to you the whole of my +conduct? It is a sensation to which I have hitherto been a stranger, and +in spite of me, it obliges me to mistrust myself. But I have discovered +the reason. It is, that educated in solitude, and immured in the walls +of a college, we had not learned to make allowances for the situations +and the passions of mankind. You and I, my dear count, have long agreed, +that the morality of priests is to be distrusted: that it is too often +founded upon sinister views and private interest: that it has none +of that comprehension of thought, that manly enthusiasm, which is +characteristic of the genuine moral philosopher. What have penances and +pilgrimages, what have beads and crosses, vows made in opposition to +every instinct of nature, and an obedience subversive of the original +independency of the human mind, to do with virtue? + +Thus far, my amiable friend, you advanced, but yet I am afraid you have +not advanced far enough. I am told there is an honesty and an honour, +that preserves a man's character free from impeachment, which is +perfectly separate from that sublime goodness that you and I have always +admired. But to this sentiment I am by no means reconciled. To speak +more immediately to the subject I intended. + +What can be more justifiable, or reasonable, than a conformity to the +original propensities of our nature? It is true, these propensities may +by an undue cultivation be so much increased, as to be productive of +the most extensive mischief. The man who, for the sake of indulging +his corporeal appetites, neglects every valuable pursuit, and every +important avocation, cannot be too warmly censured. But it is no less +true, that the passion of the sexes for each other, exists in the most +innocent and uncorrupted heart. Can it then be reasonable to condemn +such a moderate indulgence of this passion, as interrupts no employment, +and impedes no pursuit? This indulgence, in the present civilized +state of society, requires no infringement of order, no depravation of +character. The legislators of every country, whose wisdom may surely +be considered as somewhat greater than that of its priests, have +judiciously overlooked this imagined irregularity, and amongst all the +penalties which they have ambitiously, and too often without either +sentiment or humanity, heaped together against the offences of society, +have suffered this to pass unnoticed. Why should we be more harsh and +rigorous than they? It is inconsistent with all logic and all candour, +to argue against the use of any thing from its abuse. Of what mischief +can the moderate gratification of this appetite be the source? It does +not indeed romantically seek to reclaim a class of women, whom every +sober man acknowledges to be irreclaimable. But with that benevolence +that is congenial to a comprehensive mind, it pities them with all their +errors, and it contributes to preserve them from misery, distress, and +famine. + +From what I have now said, I believe you will have already suspected of +what nature are those particulars in my conduct, which I set out with +an intention of confessing. Whatever may be my merit or demerit in this +instance, I will not hide from you that the marquis of San Severino was +the original cause of what I have done. You are already sufficiently +acquainted with the freedom of his sentiments upon this subject. He is a +professed devotee of the sex, and he suffers this passion to engross a +much larger share of his time than I can by any means approve. Incited +by his exhortations, I have in some measure imitated his conduct, at the +same time that I have endeavoured not to fall into the same excesses. + +But I believe that I shall treat you more regularly in the manner of a +confessor, and render you more master of the subject, by relating to you +the steps by which I have been led to act and to justify, that which I +formerly used to condemn. I have already told you, how aukward I felt my +situation in the first society of the gayer kind, into which my friend +introduced me. Though he politely freed me from my present embarassment, +he could not help rallying me upon the rustic appearance I made. He +apologized for the ill fortune I had experienced, and promised to +introduce me to a mistress beautiful as the day, and sprightly and +ingenious as Sappho herself. + +What could I do? I was unwilling to break with the most amiable +companion I had found in the city of Naples. I was staggered with his +reasonings and his eloquence. Shall I acknowledge the truth? I was +mortified at the singular and uncouth figure I had made. I felt myself +actuated with a social sympathy, that made me wish to resemble those of +my own rank and age, in any thing that was not seriously criminal. I was +involuntarily incited by the warm description San Severino gave me of +the beauty and attractions of the lady he recommended. Must we not +confess, my St. Julian, setting the nature of the business quite out +of the question, that there was something highly disinterested in the +behaviour of the marquis upon this occasion? He left his companions and +his pleasures, to accommodate himself to my weakness. He managed his own +character so little, as to undertake to recommend to me a female friend. +And he seems to have neglected the interest of his own pleasures +entirely, in order to introduce me to a woman, inferior in +accomplishments to none of her sex. + + + + +Letter VII + + +_The Same to the Same_ + +_Naples_ + +Could I ever have imagined, my dear count, that in so short a time the +correspondence between us would have been so much neglected? I have +yet received no answer to my last letter, upon a subject particularly +interesting, and in which I had some reason to fear your disapprobation. +My St. Julian lives in the obscurity of retreat, and in the solitude +most favourable to literary pursuits. What avocations can have called +off his attention from the interests of his friend? May I be permitted +however to draw one conclusion from your silence, that you do not +consider my situation as critical and alarming? That although you join +the prudent severity of a monitor with the candid partiality of a +friend, you yet view my faults in a venial light, and are disposed to +draw over them the veil of indulgence? + +I might perhaps deduce a fairer apology for the silence on my part from +my new situation, the avocations incident to my rank and fortune, and +the pleasures that abound in a city and a court so celebrated as that +of Naples. But I will not attempt an apology. The novelty of these +circumstances have diverted my attention more than they ought from the +companion of my studies and the friend of my youth, but I trust I shall +never forget him. I have met with companions more gay, and consorts more +obsequious, but I have never found a character so worthy, and a friend +so sincere. + +Since I last addressed my St. Julian, I have been engaged in various +scenes both of a pleasurable and a serious kind. I think I am guilty of +no undue partiality to my own conduct when I assure you, that I have +embarked in the lighter pursuits of associates of my own age without +having at any time forgotten what was due to the lustre of my ancestry, +and the favour of my sovereign. I have not injured my reputation. I +have mingled business and pleasure, so as not to sacrifice that which +occupies the first place, to that which holds only the second. + +I trust that my St. Julian knows me too well, to suppose that I would +separate philosophy and practice, reason and action from each other. It +was by the instructions of my friend, that I learned to rise superior +to the power of prejudice, to reject no truth because it was novel, to +refuse my ear to no arguments because they were not backed by pompous +and venerable names. In pursuance of this system, I have ventured in +my last to suggest some reasons in favour of a moderate indulgence of +youthful pleasures. Perhaps however my dear count will think, that I am +going beyond what even these reasons would authorize in the instance I +am about to relate. + +You are not probably to be informed that there are a certain kind of +necessary people, dependents upon such young noblemen as San Severino +and his friends, upon whom the world has bestowed the denomination +of pimps. One of these gentlemen seemed of late to feel a particular +partiality to myself. He endeavoured by several little instances of +officiousness to become useful to me. At length he told me of a young +person extremely beautiful and innocent, whose first favours he believed +he could engage to procure in my behalf. + +At that idea I started. "And do you think, my good friend," said I, +"because you are acquainted with my having indulged to some of those +pleasures inseparable from my age, that I would presume to ruin +innocence, and be the means of bringing upon a young person so much +remorse and such an unhappy way of life, as must be the inevitable +consequence of a step of this kind?" "My lord," replied the parasite, "I +do not pretend to be any great casuist in these matters. His honour of +San Severino does I know seldom give way to scruples of this kind. But +in the instance I have mentioned there are several things to be said. +The mother of the lady, who formerly moved in a higher sphere than she +does at present, never maintained a very formidable character. This +daughter is the fruit of her indiscriminate amours, and though I am +perfectly satisfied she has not yet been blown upon by the breath of +a mortal, her education has been such as to prepare her to follow the +venerable example of her mother. Your lordship therefore sees that in +this case, you will wrong no parent, and seduce no child, that you will +merely gather an harvest already ripe, and which will be infallibly +reaped by the first comer." + +Though the reasons of my convenient gentleman made me hesitate, they +by no means determined me to the execution of the plan he proposed. He +immediately perceived the situation of my mind, and hinted that he +might at least have the honour of placing me in a certain church, that +afternoon at vespers, where I might have an opportunity of seeing, and +perhaps conversing a little with the lady. To this scheme I assented. + +She appeared not more than sixteen years of age. Her person was small, +but her form was delicate. Her auburn tresses hung about her neck +in great profusion. Her eyes sparkled with vivacity, and even with +intelligence. Her dress was elegant and graceful, but not gaudy. It +was impossible that such a figure should not have had some tendency to +captivate me. Having contemplated her sufficiently at a distance, I +approached nearer. + +The little gipsey turned up her eyes askance, and endeavoured to take a +sly survey of me as I advanced. I accosted her. Her behaviour was full +of that charming hesitation which is uniformly the offspring of youth +and inexperience. She received me with a pretty complaisance, but at +the same time blushed and appeared fluttered she knew not why. I +involuntarily advanced my hand towards her, and she gave me hers with a +kind of unreflecting frankness. There was a good sense and a simplicity +united in her appearance, and the few words she uttered, that pleased +and even affected me. + +Such, my dear friend, is the present state of my amour. I confess I have +frequently considered seduction in an odious light. But here I think few +or none of the objections against it have place. The mellow fruit is +ready to drop from the tree, and seems to solicit some friendly hand to +gather it. + + + + +Letter VIII + + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Palermo_ + +My dear lord, + +Avocations of no agreeable kind, and with which it probably will not +be long before you are sufficiently acquainted, have of late entirely +engrossed me. You will readily believe, that they were concerns of no +small importance, that hindered me from a proper acknowledgment and +attention to the communications of my friend. But I will dismiss my own +affairs for the present, and make a few of the observations to which you +invite me upon the contents of your letters. + +Alas! my Rinaldo is so entirely changed since we used to wander together +among the groves and vallies, and along the banks of that stream which I +now see from my window, that I scarcely know him for the same. Where +is that simplicity, where that undisguised attachment to virtue and +integrity, where that unaccommodating system of moral truth, that used +to live in the bosom of my friend? All the lines of his character seem +to suffer an incessant decay. Shall I fear that the time is hastening +when that sublime and generous spirit shall no longer be distinguished +from the San Severinos, the men of gaiety and pleasure of the age? And +can I look back upon this alteration, and apprehensions thus excited, +and say, "all this has taken place in six poor months?" + +Do not imagine, my dear lord, that I am that severe monitor, that rigid +censor, that would give up his friend for every fault, that knows not +how to make any allowance for the heedless levity of youth. I can +readily suppose a man with the purest heart and most untainted +principles, drawn aside into temporary error. Occasion, opportunity, +example, an accidental dissipation of mind are inlets to vice, against +which perhaps it is not in humanity to be always guarded. + +Confidence, my dear friend, unsuspicious confidence, is the first source +of error. In favour of the presumptuous man, who wantonly incurs danger +and braves temptation, heaven will not interest itself. There can be +no mistake more destitute of foundation, than that which supposes man +exempt from frailty. + +Had not my Rinaldo, trusting too much to his own strength, laid himself +open to dangerous associates, he would now have contemplated those +actions he has been taught to excuse, with disgust and horror. His own +heart would never have taught him that commodious morality he has been +induced to patronize. But he feared them not. He felt, as he assured me, +that firmness of resolution, and ardour of virtue, that might set +these temptations at defiance. Be ingenuous, my friend. Look back, and +acknowledge your mistake. Look back, and acknowledge, that to the purest +and most blameless mind indiscriminate communications are dangerous. + +I had much rather my dear marquis had once deviated from that line of +conduct he had marked out to himself, than that he had undertaken to +defend the deviation, and exerted himself to unlearn principles that did +him honour. You profess to believe that indulgences of this sort are +unavoidable, and the temptations to them irresistible. And is man then +reduced to a par with the brutes? Is there a single passion of the soul, +that does not then cease to be blameless, when it is no longer directed +and restrained by the dictates of reason? A thousand considerations of +health, of interest, of character, respecting ourselves; and of benefit +and inconvenience to society, will be taken into the estimate by the +wise and the good man. + +But these considerations are superseded by that which cannot be +counteracted. And does not the reciprocal power of motives depend upon +the strength and vivacity with which they are exhibited to the mind? The +presence of a superior would at any time restrain us from an unbecoming +action. The sense of a decided interest, the apprehension of a certain, +and very considerable detriment, would deprive the most flattering +temptation of all its blandishments. And are not this sense and this +apprehension in a great degree in the power of every man? + +Tell me, my friend; Shall that action which in a woman is the utter +extinction of all honour, be in a man entirely faultless and innocent? +But the world is not quite so unjust. Such a conduct even in our sex +tends to the diminution of character, is considered in the circle of the +venerable and the virtuous as a subject of shame and concealment, and +if persisted in, causes a person universally to be considered, as alike +unfit for every arduous pursuit, and every sublime undertaking. + +Is it possible indeed, that the society of persons in the lowest state +of profligacy, can be desirable for a man of family, for one who +pretends to honour and integrity? Is it possible that they should not +have some tendency to pollute his ideas, to debase his sentiments, and +to reduce him to the same rank with themselves? If the women you have +described irreclaimable, let it at least be remembered that your +conduct tends to shut up against them the door of reformation and +return, and forces upon them a mode of subsistence which they might not +voluntarily have chosen. + +Thus much for your first letter. Your second calls me to a subject +of greater seriousness and magnitude. My Rinaldo makes hasty strides +indeed! Scarcely embarked in licentious and libertine principles, +he seems to look forward to the last consummation of the debauchee. +Seduction, my dear lord, is an action that will yield in horror to no +crime that ever sprang up in the degenerate breast. + +But it seems, the action you propose to yourself is divested of some +of the aggravations of seduction. I will acknowledge it. Had my friend +received this crime into his bosom in all its deformity, dear as he is +to me, I would have thrown him from my heart with detestation. Yes, I am +firmly persuaded, that the man who perpetrates it, however specious he +may appear, was never conscious to one generous sentiment, never knew +the meaning of rectitude and integrity, but was at all times wrapped up +in that narrow selfishness, that torpid insensibility, that would not +disgrace a fiend. + +He undermines innocence surrounded with all her guard of ingenuous +feelings and virtuous principles. He forces from her station a +defenceless woman, who, without his malignant interposition, might have +filled it with honour and happiness. He heaps up disgrace and misery +upon a family that never gave him provocation, and perhaps brings down +the grey hairs of the heads of it to the grave with calamity. + +Of all hypocrites this man is the most consummate and the most odious. +He dresses his countenance in smiles, while his invention teems with +havoc and ruin. He pretends the sincerest good will without feeling one +sentiment of disinterested and honest affection. He feigns the warmest +attachment that he may the more securely destroy. + +This, my friend, is not the crime of an instant, an action into which +he is hurried by unexpected temptation, and the momentary violence of +passion. He goes about it with deliberation. He lays his plans with all +the subtlety of a Machiavel, and all the flagitiousness of a Borgia. +He executes them gradually from day to day, and from week to week. And +during all this time he dwells upon the luxurious idea, he riots in the +misery he hopes to create. He will tell you he loves. Yes, he loves, as +the hawk loves the harmless dove, as the tyger loves the trembling kid. +And is this the man in whose favour I should ever have been weak enough +to entertain a partiality? I would tear him from my bosom like an adder. +I would crush him like a serpent. + +But your case has not the same aggravations. Here is no father who +prizes the honour of his family more than life, and whose heart is bound +up in the virtue of his only child. Here is no mother a stranger to +disgrace, and who with unremitted vigilance had fought to guard every +avenue to the destruction of her daughter. Even the victim herself has +never learned the beauty of virgin purity, and does not know the value +of that she is about to lose. + +And yet, my Rinaldo, after all these deductions, there is something in +the story of this uninstructed little innocent, even as stated by him +who is ready to destroy her, that greatly interests my wishes in her +favour. She does not know it seems all the calamity of the fate that is +impending over her. She is blindfolded for destruction. She plays with +her ruin, and views with a thoughtless and a partial eye the murderer of +her virtue and her happiness. + + _And, oh, poor helpless nightingale, thought I, + How sweet thou sing'st, how near the deadly snare!_ + +But if you do not accept the proposal that is made you, it is but too +probable what her fate will be, and how soon the event will take +place. And is this an excuse for my friend to offer? Thousands are the +iniquities that are now upon the verge of action. An imagination the +most fertile in horror can scarcely conceive the crimes that will +probably be committed. And shall I therefore with malignant industry +forestal the villain in all his black designs? You do not mean it. + +Permit me yet to suggest one motive more. A connection like that you +have proposed to yourself, might probably make you a father. Of all +the charities incident to the human character, those of a parent are +abundantly the most exquisite and venerable. And can a man of the +smallest sensibility think with calmness, of bringing children into the +world to be the heirs of shame? When he gives them life he entails upon +them dishonour. The father that should look upon them with joy, as a +benefit conferred upon society, and the support of his declining age, +regards them with coldness and alienation. The mother who should +consider them as her boast and her honour, cannot behold them without +opening anew all the sluices of remorse, cannot own them without a +blush. + +This, my Rinaldo, is what you might do, and in doing it you would +perpetrate an action that would occasion to an ingenuous mind an eternal +regret. But there is another thing also that you might do, and that a +mind, indefatigable in the pursuit of rectitude, as was once that of my +friend, would not need to have suggested to it by another. Instead +of treasuring up remorse, instead of preparing for an innocent and +unsuspecting victim a life of misery and shame, you might redeem her +from impending destruction. You might obtain for her an honest and +industrious partner, and enable her to acquire the character of a +virtuous matron, and a respectable mother of a family. + +Reflect for a moment, my dear marquis, on this proposal, which I hope +is yet in your power. Think you, that conscious rectitude, that the +exultation of your heart when you recollect the temptation you have +escaped, and the noble turn you have given it, will not infinitely +overbalance the sordid and fleeting pleasure you are able to attain? +Imagine to yourself that you see her offspring growing up under the care +of a blameless mother, and coming forward to thank you for the benefit +you bestowed upon them before they had a being. Is not this an object +over which a heart susceptible to one manly feeling may reasonably +triumph? + + + + +Letter IX + +_The Count de St. Julian to Signor Hippolito Borelli_ + +_Messina_ + +You, my dear Hippolito, were the only one of my fellow-collegians, to +whom I communicated all the circumstances of that unfortunate situation +which obliged me to take a final leave of the university. The death of +a father, though not endeared by the highest reciprocations of mutual +kindness, must always make some impressions upon a susceptible mind. The +wound was scarcely healed that had been made by the loss of a mother, a +fond mother, who by her assiduous attentions had supplied every want, +and filled up every neglect, to which I might otherwise have been +exposed. + +When I quitted Palermo, I resolved before I determined upon any thing, +to proceed to the residence of my family at Leontini. My reception +was, as I expected, cold and formal. My brother related to me the +circumstances of the death of my father, over which he affected to shed +tears. He then produced his testament for my inspection, pretended to +blame me that though I were the elder, I had so little ingratiated +myself in his favour, and added, that he could not think of being guilty +of so undutiful a conduct, as to contravene the last dispositions of his +father. If however he could be of any use to me in my future plans of +life, he would exert himself to serve me. + +The next morning I quitted Leontini. My reflexions upon the present +posture of my affairs, could not but be melancholy. I was become as it +were a native of the world, discarded from every family, cut off from +every country. Born to a respectable rank and a splendid fortune, I +was precluded in a moment from expectations so reasonable, and an +inheritance which I might have hoped at this time to reap. Many there +are, I doubt not, who have no faculties by which to comprehend the +extent of this misfortune. The loss of possessions sufficiently ample, +and of the power and dignity annexed to his character, who is the +supporter of an ancient name, they would confess was to be regretted. +But I had many resources left. My brother would probably have received +me into his family, and I might have been preserved from the sensations +of exigency and want. And could I think of being obliged for this to +a brother, who had always beheld me with aversion, who was not of +a character to render the benefits he conferred insensible to the +receiver, and who, it was scarcely to be supposed, had not made use of +sinister and ungenerous arts to deprive me of my inheritance? But the +houses of the great were still open. My character was untainted, my +education had been such as to enable me to be useful in a thousand +ways. Ah, my Hippolito, the great are not always possessed of the most +capacious minds. There are innumerable little slights and offences that +shrink from description, but which are sufficient to keep alive the most +mortifying sense of dependency, and to make a man of sensibility, and +proud honour constantly unhappy. And must I, who had hoped to be +the ornament and boast of my country, thus become a burden to my +acquaintance, and a burden to myself? + +Such were the melancholy reflexions in which I was engaged. I had left +Leontini urged by the sentiments of miscarriage and resentment. I fled +from the formality of condolence, and the useless parade of friendship. +I would willingly have hid myself from every face I had hitherto known. +I would willingly have retired to a desart. My thoughts were all in +arms. I revolved a thousand vigorous resolutions without fixing upon +one. + +I had now proceeded somewhat more than two leagues upon my journey, +and had gained the centre of that vast and intricate forest which you +remember to be situated at no great distance from Leontini. In this +place there advanced upon me in a moment four of those bravoes, for +which this place is particularly infamous, and who are noted for their +daring and hazardous atchievements. Myself and my servant defended +ourselves against them for some time. One of them was wounded in the +beginning of the encounter. But it was impossible that we could have +resisted long. My servant was hurt in several places, and I had received +a wound in my arm. In this critical moment a cavalier, accompanied by +several attendants, and who appeared to be armed, advanced at no great +distance. The villains immediately took up their disabled companion, +and retired with precipitation into the thickest part of the wood. My +deliverer now ordered some of his attendants to pursue them, while +himself with one servant remained to assist us. + +Imagine, my dear friend, what were my emotions, when I discovered in my +preserver, the marquis of Pescara! I recollected in a moment all our +former intimacy, and in what manner it had so lately been broken off. +Little did I think that I should almost ever have seen him again. Much +less did I think that I should ever have owed him the most important +obligations. + +The expression of the countenance of both of us upon this sudden +recognition was complicated. Amidst all the surprize and gratitude, that +it was impossible not to testify, my eyes I am convinced had something +in them of the reproach of violated friendship. I thought I could trace, +and by what followed I could not be mistaken, in the air of my Rinaldo, +a confession of wrong, united with a kind of triumph, that he had been +enabled so unexpectedly and completely to regain that moral equilibrium +which he had before lost. + +It was not long before his servants returned from an unsuccessful +pursuit, and we set forward for a village about a quarter of a league +further upon the road from Leontini. It was there that I learned from my +friend the occasion and subject of his journey. He had heard at Naples a +confused report of the death of my father, and the unexpected succession +of my brother. The idea of this misfortune involuntarily afflicted him. +At the thought of my distress all his tenderness revived. "And was it," +it was thus that he described the progress of his reflections, "in +the moment of so unexpected a blow, that my St. Julian neglected the +circumstances of his own situation, to write to me that letter, +the freedom of whose remonstrances, and the earnestness of whose +exhortations so greatly offended me? How much does this consideration +enhance the purity and disinterestedness of his friendship? And is it +possible that I should have taken umbrage at that which was prompted +only by tenderness and attachment? And did I ever speak of his +interference in those harsh and reproachful terms which I so well +knew would be conveyed to him again? Could I have been so blinded by +groundless resentment, as to have painted him in all the colours of an +inflexible dictator, and a presumptuous censor? Could I have imputed his +conduct to motives of pride, affectation, and arrogance? How happy had I +been, had his advice arrived sooner, and been more regarded?" + +But it was not with self-blame and reproach only, that the recovery +of my Rinaldo was contented. The idea of the situation of his friend +incessantly haunted him. No pursuit, no avocation, could withdraw his +attention, or banish the recollection from his mind. He determined to +quit Naples in search of me. He left all those engagements, and all +those pleasures of which he had of late been so much enamoured, and +crossing the sea he came into Sicily. Learning that I had quitted +Palermo, he resolved to pursue his search of me to Leontini. He had +fixed his determination not to quit the generous business upon which he +had entered, without discovering me in my remotest retreat, atoning for +the groundless resentment he had harboured, and contributing every thing +in his power to repair the injustice I had suffered from those of my +own family. And in pursuance of these ideas he has made me the most +disinterested and liberal proposals of friendship and assistance. + +How is it, my Hippolito, that the same man shall be alternately governed +by the meanest and most exalted motives: that he shall now appear an +essence celestial and divine, and now debase himself by a conduct the +most indefensible and unworthy? But such I am afraid is man. Mixed +in all his qualities, and inconsistent in all his purposes. The most +virtuous and most venerable of us all are too often guilty of things +weak, sordid, and disgraceful. And it is to be hoped on the other hand, +that there are few so base and degenerate, as not sometimes to perform +actions of the most undoubted utility, and to feel sentiments dignified +and benevolent. It is in vain that the philosopher fits in his airy +eminence, and seeks to reduce the shapeless mass into form, and +endeavours to lay down rules for so variable and inconstant a system. +Nature mocks his efforts, and the pertinacity of events belies his +imaginary hypotheses. + +But I am guilty of injustice to my friend. An action which he has so +sincerely regretted, and so greatly atoned, ought not to be considered +with so much severity. I trust I am not misled by the personal +interest I may appear to have in his present conduct. I think I should +contemplate it with the same admiration, and allow it the same weight, +if its benevolence entirely regarded another. Indeed I am still in the +greatest uncertainty how to determine. I am still inclined to prefer my +former plan, of entering resolutely upon new scenes and new pursuits, +to that of taking up any durable residence in the palace of my friend. +There is something misbecoming a man in the bloom of youth, and +labouring under no natural disadvantages and infirmities, in the +subsisting in any manner upon the bounty of another. The pride of my +heart, a pride that I do not seek to extinguish, leads me to prefer an +honest independence, in however mean a station, to the most splendid, +and the most silken bondage. + +Why should not he that is born a nobleman be also born a man? A man is a +character superior to all those that civilization has invented. To be a +man is the profession of a citizen of the world. A man of rank is a poor +shivering, exotic plant, that cannot subsist out of his native soil. If +the imaginary barriers of society were thrown down, if we were reduced +back again to a state of nature, the nobleman would appear a shiftless +and a helpless being; he only who knew how to be a man would show like +the creature of God, a being sent into the world with the capacities of +subsistence and enjoyment. The nobleman, an artificial and fantastic +creation, would then lose all that homage in which he plumed himself, he +would be seen without disguise, and be despised by all. + +Oh, my Hippolito, in spite of all this parade of firmness and +resolution, I cannot quit my native country but with the sincerest +regret. I had one tie, why do I mention it? Never did I commit this +confidence to any mortal. It was the dream of a poetical imagination. It +was a vision drawn in the fantastic and airy colours that flow from the +pencil of youth. Fondly I once entertained a hope. I lived upon it. But +it is vanished for ever. + +I shall go from hence with the marquis of Pescara to Naples. I shall +there probably make a residence of several weeks. In that time I +shall have fixed my plans, and immediately after shall enter upon the +execution of them. + + + + +Letter X + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Cosenza_ + +My dear lord, + +Every thing that has happened to me for some time past, appears so +fortunate and extraordinary that I can scarcely persuade myself that +it is not a dream. Is it possible that I should not have been born to +uninterrupted misfortune? The outcast of my father almost as soon as I +had a being, I was never sensible to the solace of paternal kindness, I +could never open my heart, and pour forth all my thoughts into the bosom +of him to whom I owed my existence. Why was I created with a mind so +delicate as to be susceptible of a thousand feelings, and ruffled by a +thousand crosses, that glide unheeded over the breasts of the majority +of mankind? What filial duty did I neglect, what instance of obedience +did I ever refuse, that should have made me be considered with a regard +so rigorous and austere? And was it not punishment enough to be debarred +of all the solace I might have hoped to derive from the cares of a +guardian and a protector? How did I deserve to be deprived of that +patrimony which was my natural claim, to be sent forth, after having +formed so reasonable expectancies, after having received an education +suitable to my rank, unassisted and unprovided, upon the theatre of the +world? + +I had pictured that world to myself as cold, selfish, and unfeeling. +I expected to find the countenances of my fellow-creatures around me +smiling and unconcerned, whatever were my struggles, and whatever were +my disappointments. Philosophy had deprived me of those gay and romantic +prospects, which often fill the bosom of youth. A temper too sensible +and fastidious had taught me not to look for any great degree of +sympathy and disinterested ardour among the bulk of my fellow-creatures. + +I have now found that avoiding one extreme I encountered the other. As +most men, induced by their self-importance, expect that their feelings +should interest, and their situations arrest the attention of those +that surround them; so I having detected their error counted upon less +benevolence and looked for less friendship than I have found. My Rinaldo +demanded to be pardoned for having neglected my advice, and misconstrued +the motives of it. I had not less reason to intreat his forgiveness in +my turn, for having weighed his character with so little detail, and so +hastily decided to his disadvantage. + +My friend will not suspect me of interested flattery, when I say, that I +sincerely rejoice in a conduct so honourable to human nature as his has +been respecting me. He had no motive of vanity, for who was there that +interested himself in the fate of so obscure an individual; who in all +the polite circles and _conversazioni_ of Naples, would give him credit +for his friendship, to a person so unlike themselves? He superseded +all the feelings of resentment, he counted no distance, he passed over +mountains and seas in pursuit of his exalted design. + +But my Rinaldo, generous as he is, is not the only protector that +fortune has raised to the forlorn and deserted St. Julian. You are +acquainted with the liberal and friendly invitation I received from the +duke of Benevento at Messina. His reception was still more cordial and +soothing. He embraced me with warmth, and even wept over me. He could +not refrain from imprecations upon the memory of my father, and he +declared with energy, that the son of Leonora della Colonna should never +suffer from the arbitrary and capricious tyranny of a Sicilian count. +He assured me in the strongest terms that his whole fortune was at +my disposal. Then telling me that his dear and only child had been +impatient for my arrival, he took me by the hand, and led me to the +amiable Matilda. + +A change like this could not but be in the highest degree consolatory +and grateful to my wounded heart. The balm of friendship and affection +is at all times sweet and refreshing. To be freed at once from the +prospect of banishment, and the dread of dependence, to be received with +unbounded friendship and overflowing generosity by a relation of my +mother, and one who places the pride of his family in supporting and +distinguishing me, was an alteration in my circumstances which I could +not have hoped. I am not insensible to kindness. My heart is not shut +against sensations of pleasure. My spirits were exhilarated; my hours +passed in those little gratifications and compliances, by which I might +best manifest my attachment to my benefactor; and I had free recourse +to the society of his lovely daughter, whose conversation animated with +guileless sallies of wit, and graced with the most engaging modesty, +afforded me an entertainment, sweet to my breast, and congenial to my +temper. + +But alas, my dear marquis, it is still true what I have often observed, +that I was not born for happiness. In the midst of a scene from which +it might best be suspected to spring, I am uneasy. My heart is corroded +with anguish, and I have a secret grief, that palls and discolours every +enjoyment, and that, by being carefully shut up in my own bosom, is so +much the more afflicting and irksome. Yes, my Rinaldo, this it was that +gave a sting to the thought of removing to a foreign country. This +was that source of disquiet, which has constantly given me an air of +pensiveness and melancholy. In no intercourse of familiarity, in no hour +of unrestricted friendship, was it ever disclosed. It is not, my friend, +the dream of speculative philosophy, it has been verified in innumerable +facts, it is the subject of the sober experience of every man, that +communication and confidence alleviate every uneasiness. But ah, if it +were before disquiet and melancholy, now it burns, it rages, I am no +longer master of myself. + +You remember, my dear Rinaldo, that once in the course of my residence +at the university, I paid a visit to the duke of Benevento at Cosenza. +It was then that I first saw the amiable Matilda. She appeared to me the +most charming of her sex. Her cheeks had the freshness of the peach, and +her lips were roses. Her neck was alabaster, and her eyes sparkled with +animation, chastened with the most unrivalled gentleness and delicacy. +Her stature, her forehead, her mouth--but ah, impious wretch, how canst +thou pretend to trace her from charm to charm! Who can dissect unbounded +excellence? Who can coolly and deliberately gaze upon the brightness +of the meridian sun? I will say in one word, that her whole figure was +enchanting, that all her gestures were dignity, and every motion was +grace. + +Young and unexperienced I drank without suspicion of the poison of love. +I gazed upon her with extacy. I hung upon every accent of her voice. In +her society I appeared mute and absent. But it was not the silence of an +uninterested person: it was not the distraction of philosophic thought. +I was entirely engaged, my mind was full of the contemplations of her +excellence even to bursting. I felt no vacancy, I was conscious to no +want, I was full of contentment and happiness. + +As soon however as she withdrew, I felt myself melancholy and dejected. +I fled from company. I sought the most impervious solitude. I wasted the +live-long morn in the depth of umbrageous woods, amidst hills and meads, +where I could perceive no trace of a human footstep. I longed to be +alone with the object of my admiration. I thought I had much to say to +her, but I knew not what. I had no plan, my very wishes were not reduced +into a system. It was only, that full of a new and unexperienced +passion, it sought incessantly to break forth. It urged me to disburden +my labouring heart. + +Once I remember I obtained the opportunity I had so long wished. It came +upon me unexpectedly, and I was overwhelmed by it. My limbs trembled, +my eyes lost their wonted faculty. The objects before them swam along +indistinctly. I essayed to speak, my very tongue refused its office. I +felt that I perspired at every pore. I rose to retire, I sat down again +irresolute and confounded. + +Matilda perceived my disorder and coming towards me, enquired with a +tender and anxious voice, whether I felt myself ill. The plaintive and +interesting tone in which she delivered herself completed my confusion. +She rang the bell for assistance, and the scene was concluded. When I +returned to Palermo, I imagined that by being removed from the cause of +my passion, I should insensibly lose the passion itself. Rinaldo, you +know that I am not of that weak and effeminate temper to throw the reins +upon the neck of desire, to permit her a clear and undisputed reign. I +summoned all my reason and all my firmness to my aid. I considered the +superiority of her to whom my affections were attached, in rank, in +expectations, in fortune. I felt that my passion could not naturally be +crowned with success. "And shall I be the poor and feeble slave of love? +Animated as I am with ambition, aspiring to the greatest heights of +knowledge and distinction, shall I degenerate into an amorous and +languishing boy; shall I wilfully prepare for myself a long vista of +disappointment? Shall I by one froward and unreasonable desire, stain +all my future prospects, and discolour all those sources of enjoyment, +that fate may have reserved for me?" Alas, little did I then apprehend +that loss of fortune that was about to place me still more below the +object of my wishes! + +But my efforts were vain. I turned my attention indeed to a variety of +pursuits. I imagined that the flame which had sprung up at Cosenza was +entirely extinguished. I seemed to retain from it nothing but a kind of +soft melancholy and a sober cast of thought, that made me neither less +contented with myself, nor less agreeable to those whose partiality I +was desirous to engage. + +But I no sooner learned that reverse of fortune which disclosed itself +upon the death of my father, than I felt how much I had been deceived. I +had only drawn a slight cover over the embers of passion, and the fire +now broke out with twice its former violence. I had nourished it +unknown to myself with the distant ray of hope, I had still cheated my +imagination with an uncertain prospect of success. When every prospect +vanished, when all hopes were at an end, it burst every barrier, it +would no longer be concealed. My temper was in the utmost degree +unsuitable to a state of dependence, but it was this thought that made +it additionally harsh and dreadful to my mind. I loved my country with +the sincerest affection, but it was this that made banishment worse than +ten thousand deaths. The world appeared to me a frightful solitude, with +not one object that could interest all my attention, and fill up all the +wishes of my heart. + +From these apprehensions, and this dejection, I have been unexpectedly +delivered. But, oh, my dear marquis, what is the exchange I have made? I +reside under the same roof with the adorable Matilda. I see every day, +I converse without restraint with her, whom I can never hope to call +my own. Can I thus go on to cherish a passion, that can make me no +promises, that can suggest to me no hopes? Can I expect always to +conceal this passion from the most penetrating eyes? How do I know that +I am not at this moment discovered, that the next will not lay my heart +naked in the sight of the most amiable of women? + +Cosenza! thou shalt not long be my abode. I will not live for ever in +unavailing struggles. Concealment shall not always be the business of +the simplest and most undisguised of all dispositions. I will not +watch with momentary anxiety, I will not tremble with distracting +apprehensions. Matilda, thy honest and unsuspecting heart by me shall +never be led astray. If the fond wishes of a father are reserved for +cruel disappointment, I will not be the instrument. My secret shall lie +for ever buried in this faithful breast. It shall die with me. I will +fly to some distant land. I will retire to some country desolated by +ever burning suns, or buried beneath eternal snows. There I can love +at liberty. There I can breathe my sighs without one tell-tale wind to +carry them to the ears, with them to disturb the peace of those whom +beyond all mankind I venerate and adore. I may be miserable, I may be +given up to ever-during despair. But my patron and his spotless daughter +shall be happy. + +Alas, this is but the paroxysm of a lover's rage. I have no resolution, +I am lost in perplexity. I have essayed in vain, I cannot summon +together my scattered thoughts. Oh, my friend, never did I stand so much +in need of a friend as now. Advise me, instruct me. To the honesty of +your advice, and the sincerity of your friendship I can confide. Tell me +but what to do, and though you send me to the most distant parts of the +globe, I will not hesitate. + + + + +Letter XI + + +_The Same to the Same_ + +_Cosenza_ + +My most dear lord, + +Expect me in ten days from the date of this at your palace at Naples. My +mind is now become more quiet and serene than when I last wrote to you. +I have considered of the whole subject of that letter with perfect +deliberation. And I have now come to an unchangeable resolution. + +It is this which has restored a comparative tranquility to my thoughts. +Yes, my friend, there is a triumph in fortitude, an exultation in +heroical resolve, which for a moment at least, sets a man above the most +abject and distressing circumstances. Since I have felt my own dignity +and strength, the tumultuous hurry of my mind is stilled. I look upon +the objects around me with a calm and manly despair. I have not yet +disclosed my intentions to the duke, and I may perhaps find some +difficulty in inducing him to acquiesce in them. But I will never change +them. + +You will perceive from what I have said, that my design in coming to +Naples is to prepare for a voyage. I do not doubt of the friendship and +generous assistance of the duke of Benevento. I shall therefore enter +upon my new scheme of life with a more digested plan, and better +prospects.--But why do I talk of prospects! + +I have attempted, and with a degree of success, to dissipate my mind +within a few days past, by superintending the alterations about which +you spoke to me, in your gardens at this place. You will readily +perceive how unavoidably I am called off from an employment, which +derives a new pleasure from the sentiments of friendship it is +calculated to awaken, by the perverse and unfortunate events of my life. + + + + +Letter XII + + +_The Same to the Same_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +Why is it, my dear marquis, that the history of my life is so +party-coloured and extraordinary, that I am unable to foresee at the +smallest distance what is the destiny reserved for me? Happiness and +misery, success and disappointment so take their turns, that in the one +I have not time for despair, and in the other I dare not permit to my +heart a sincere and unmingled joy. + +The day after I dispatched my last letter the duke of Benevento, whose +age is so much advanced, was seized with a slight paralytic stroke. +He was for a short time deprived of all sensation. The trouble of his +family, every individual of which regards him with the profoundest +veneration, was inexpressible. Matilda, the virtuous Matilda, could not +be separated from the couch of her father. She hung over him with the +most anxious affection. She watched every symptom of his disorder, and +every variation of his countenance. + +I am convinced, my dear Rinaldo, that there is no object so beautiful +and engaging as this. A woman in all the pride of grace, and fulness of +her charms, tending with unwearied care a feeble and decrepid parent; +all her features informed with melting anxiety and filial tenderness, +yet suppressing the emotions of her heart and the wilder expressions of +sorrow; subduing even the stronger sentiments of nature, that she may +not by an useless and inconsiderate grief supersede the kind care, and +watchful attention, that it is her first ambition to yield. It is a +trite observation, that beauty never appears so attractive as when +unconscious of itself; and I am sure, that no self-forgetfulness can be +so amiable, as that which is founded in the emotions of a tender and +gentle heart. The disorder of the duke however was neither violent nor +lasting. In somewhat less than an hour, the favourable symptoms began to +appear, and he gradually recovered. In the mean time a certain lassitude +and feebleness remained from the shock he received, which has not yet +subsided. + +But what language shall I find to describe to my Rinaldo the scene to +which this event furnished the occasion? + +The next day the duke sent for his daughter and myself into his chamber. +As soon as we were alone he began to describe, in terms that affected us +both, the declining state of his health. "I feel," said he, "that +this poor worn-out body totters to its fall. The grave awaits me. The +summonses of death are such as cannot but be heard. + +"Death however inspires me with no terror. I have lived long and +happily. I have endeavoured so to discharge every duty in this world as +not to be afraid to meet the supreme source of excellence in another. +The greatness of him that made us is not calculated to inspire terror +but to the guilty. Power and exalted station, though increased to an +infinite degree, cannot make a just and virtuous being tremble. + +"Heaven has blessed me with a daughter, the most virtuous of her sex. +Her education has been adequate to the qualities which nature bestowed +upon her. I may without vanity assert, that Italy cannot produce her +parragon.--The first families of my country might be proud to receive +her into their bosom, princes might sue for her alliance. But I had +rather my Matilda should be happy than great. + +"Come near, my dear count. I will number you also among the precious +gifts of favouring heaven. Your reputation stands high in the world, and +is without a blemish. From earliest youth your praises were music to my +ears. But great as they were, till lately I knew not half your worth. +Had I known it sooner, I would sooner have studied how to reward it. I +should then perhaps have been too happy. + +"Believe me, my St. Julian, I have had much experience. In successive +campaigns, I have encountered hardships and danger. I have frequented +courts, and know their arts. Do not imagine then, young and unsuspecting +as you are, that you have been able to hide from me one wish of your +heart. I know that you love my daughter. I have beheld your growing +attachment with complacency. My Matilda, if I read her sentiments +aright, sees you with a favourable eye. Pursue her, my son, and win her. +If you can gain her approbation, doubt not that I will give my warmest +benedictions to the auspicious union." + +You will readily believe, that my first care was to return my most +ardent thanks to my protector and father. Immediately however I cast an +anxious and enquiring eye upon the mistress of my heart. Her face was +covered with blushes. I beheld in her a timidity and confusion that made +me tremble. But my suspence was not long. I have since drawn from her +the most favourable and transporting confession. Oh, my friend, she +acknowledges that from the first moment she saw me, she contemplated me +with partiality. She confesses, that her father by the declaration he +has made, so far from thwarting her ambition and disappointing her +wishes, has conferred upon her the highest obligation. How much, my dear +Rinaldo, is the colour of my fortune changed. It was upon this day, +at this very hour, I had determined to leave Cosenza for ever. I had +consigned myself over to despair. I was about to enter upon a world +where every face I beheld would have been a stranger to me. The scene +would have been uniform and desolate. I should have left all the +attachments of my youth, I should have left the very centre of my +existence behind me. I should have ceased to live. I should only have +drawn along a miserable train of perceptions from year to year, without +one bright day, without one gay prospect, to illuminate the gloomy +scene, and tell me that I was. + +Is it possible then that every expectation, and the whole colour of my +future life, can be so completely altered? Instead of despair, felicity. +Instead of one dark, unvaried scene, a prospect of still increasing +pleasure. Instead of standing alone, a monument of misfortune, an object +to awaken compassion in the most obdurate, shall I stand alone, the +happiest of mortals? Yes, I will never hereafter complain that nature +denied me a father, I have found a more than father. I will never +complain of calamity and affliction, in my Matilda I receive an +over-balance for them all. + + + + +Letter XIII + +_The Same to the Same_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +Alas, my friend, the greatest sublunary happiness is not untinged with +misfortune. I have no right however to exclaim. The misfortune to which +I am subject, however nearly it may affect me, makes no alteration in +the substance of my destiny. I still trust that I shall call my Matilda +mine. I still trust to have long successive years of happiness. And can +a mortal blessed as I, dare to complain? Can I give way to lamentation +and sorrow? Yes, my Rinaldo. The cloud will quickly vanish, but such is +the fate of mortals. The events, which, when sunk in the distant past, +affect us only with a calm regret, in the moment in which they overtake +us, overwhelm us with sorrow. + +I mentioned in my last, that the disorder of the duke of Benevento was +succeeded by a feebleness and languor that did not at first greatly +alarm us. It however increased daily, and was attended with a kind of +listlessness and insensibility that his physicians regarded as a very +dangerous symptom. Almost the only marks he discovered of perception and +pleasure, were in the attendance of the adorable Matilda. Repeatedly +at intervals he seized her trembling hand, and pressed it to his dying +lips. + +As the symptoms of feebleness increased upon him incessantly, he was +soon obliged to confine himself to his chamber. After an interval of +near ten days he became more clear and sensible. He called several of +his servants into the room, and gave them directions which were to be +executed after his decease. He then sent to desire that I would attend +him. His daughter was constantly in his chamber. He took both our hands +and joining them together, bowed over them his venerable head, and +poured forth a thousand prayers for our mutual felicity. We were +ourselves too much affected to be able to thank him for all his +tenderness and attention. + +By these exertions, and the affection with which they were mingled, +the spirits and strength of the duke were much exhausted. He almost +immediately fell into a profound sleep. But as morning approached, he +grew restless and disturbed. Every unfavourable symptom appeared. A +stroke still more violent than the preceding seized him, and he expired +in about two hours. + +Thus terminated a life which had been in the highest degree exemplary +and virtuous. In the former part of it, this excellent man distinguished +himself much in the service of his country, and engaged the affection +and attachment of his prince. He was respected by his equals, and adored +by the soldiery. His humanity was equally conspicuous with his courage. +When he left the public service for his retirement at this place, he did +not forget his former engagements, and his connexion with the army. +It is not perhaps easy for a government to make a complete and ample +provision for those poor men whose most vigorous years were spent in +defending their standard. Certain it is that few governments attend to +this duty in the degree in which they ought, and a wide field is left +for the benevolence of individuals. This benevolence was never more +largely and assiduously exhibited than by the duke of Benevento. He +provided for many of those persons of whose fidelity and bravery he had +been an eyewitness, in the most respectable offices in his family, and +among his retinue. Those for whom he could not find room in these +ways he gratified with pensions. He afforded such as were not yet +incapacitated for labour, the best spur to an honest industry, the +best solace under fatigue and toil, that of being assured that their +decrepitude should never stand in need of the simple means of comfort +and subsistence. + +It may naturally be supposed that the close of a life crowded with deeds +of beneficence, the exit of a man whose humanity was his principal +feature, was succeeded by a very general sorrow. Among his domestics +there appeared an universal gloom and dejection. His peasants and his +labourers lamented him as the best of masters, and the kindest of +benefactors. His pensionaries wept aloud, and were inconsolable for the +loss of him, in whom they seemed to place all their hopes of comfort and +content. + +You might form some idea of the sorrow of the lovely Matilda amidst this +troop of mourners, if I had been able to convey to you a better idea of +the softness and gentleness of her character. As the family had been +for some years composed only of his grace and herself, her circle of +acquaintance has never been extensive. Her father was all the world to +her. The duke had no enjoyment but in the present felicity and future +hopes of his daughter. The pleasures of Matilda were centered in the +ability she possessed of soothing the infirmities, and beguiling the +tedious hours of her aged parent. + +There is no virtue that adds so noble a charm to the finest traits of +beauty, as that which exerts itself in watching over the tranquility of +an aged parent. There are no tears that give so noble a lustre to the +cheek of innocence, as the tears of filial sorrow. Oh, my Rinaldo! I +would not exchange them for all the pearls of Arabia, I would not barter +them for the mines of Golconda. No, amiable Matilda, I will not check +thy chaste and tender grief. I prize it as the pledge of my future +happiness. I esteem it as that which raises thee to a level with angelic +goodness. Hence, thou gross and vulgar passion! that wouldst tempt me +to kiss away the tears from her glowing cheeks. I will not soil their +spotless purity. I will not seek to mix a thought of me with a sentiment +not unworthy of incorporeal essences. + +I shall continue at this place to regulate the business of the funeral. +I shall endeavour to put all the affairs of the lovely heiress into a +proper train. I will then wait upon my dear marquis at his palace in +Naples. For a few weeks, a few tedious weeks, I will quit the daily +sight and delightful society of my amiable charmer. At the expiration of +that term I shall hope to set out with my Rinaldo for his villa at +this place. Every thing is now in considerable forwardness, and will +doubtless by that time be prepared for your reception. + + + + +Letter XIV + + +_The Count de St. Julian to Matilda della Colonna_ + +_Naples_ + +I will thank you a thousand times for the generous permission you gave +me, to write to you from this place. I have waited an age, lovely +Matilda, that I might not intrude upon your hours of solitude and +affliction, and violate the feelings I so greatly respect. You must not +now be harsh and scrupulous. You must not cavil at the honest expression +of those sentiments you inspire. Can dissimulation ever be a virtue? +Can it ever be a duty to conceal those emotions of the soul upon which +honour has set her seal, and studiously to turn our discourse to +subjects uninteresting and distant to the heart? + +How happy am I in a passion which received the sanction of him, who +alone could claim a voice in the disposal of you! There are innumerable +lovers, filled with the most ardent passion, aiming at the purest +gratifications, whose happiness is traversed by the cold dictates of +artificial prudence, by the impotent distinctions of rank and family. +Unfeeling parents rise to thwart their wishes. The despotic hand +of authority tears asunder hearts united by the softest ties, and +sacrifices the prospect of felicity to ridiculous and unmeaning +prejudices. Let us, my Matilda, pity those whose fate is thus +unpropitious, but let us not voluntarily subject ourselves to their +misfortune. No voice is raised to forbid our union. Heaven and earth +command us to be happy. + +Alas, I am sufficiently unfortunate, that the arbitrary decorums of +society have banished me from your presence. In vain Naples holds out to +me all her pleasures and her luxury. Ill indeed do they pay me for the +exchange. Its court, its theatres, its assemblies, and its magnificence, +have no attractions for me. I had rather dwell in a cottage with her I +love, than be master of the proudest palace this city has to boast. + +In compliance with the obliging intreaties of the marquis of Pescara, I +have entered repeatedly into the scene of her entertainments. But I was +distracted and absent. A variety of topics were started of literature, +philosophy, news, and fashion. The man of humour told his pleasant tale, +and the wit flashed with his lively repartee. But I heard them not. +Their subjects were in my eye tedious and uninteresting. They talked +not of the natural progress of the passions. They did not dissect the +characters of the friend and the lover. My heart was at Cosenza. + +Fatigued with the crowded assembly and the fluttering parterre, I sought +relief in solitude. Never was solitude so grateful to me. I indulged +in a thousand reveries. Gay hope exhibited all her airy visions to +my fancy. I formed innumerable prospects of felicity, and each more +ravishing than the last. The joys painted by my imagination were surely +too pure, too tranquil to last for ever. Oh how sweet is an untasted +happiness! But ours, Matilda, shall be great, beyond what expectation +can suggest. Ours shall teem with ever fresh delights, refined by +sentiment, sanctified by virtue. Nothing but inevitable fate shall +change it. May that fate be distant as I wish it! + +But alas, capricious and unbounded fancy has sometimes exhibited a +different scene. A heart, enamoured, rivetted to its object like mine, +cannot but have intervals of solicitude and anxiety. If it have no real +subject of uncertainty and fear, it will create to itself imaginary +ones. But I have no need of these. I am placed at a distance from the +mistress of my heart, which may seem little to a cold and speculative +apprehension, but which my soul yearns to think of. My fate has not yet +received that public sanction which can alone put the finishing stroke +to my felicity. I cannot suspect, even in my most lawless flights, +the most innocent and artless of her sex of inconstancy. But how +many unexpected accidents may come between me and my happiness? How +comfortless is the thought that I can at no time say, "Now the amiable +Matilda is in health; now she dwells in peace and safety?" I receive an +account of her health, a paquet reaches me from Cosenza. Alas, it is two +tedious days from the date of the information. Into two tedious days how +many frightful events may be crowded by tyrant fancy! + + + + +Letter XV + + +_The Same to the Same_ + +_Naples_ + +I have waited, charming Matilda, with the most longing impatience in +hopes of receiving a letter from your own hand. Every post has agitated +me with suspense. My expectation has been continually raised, and as +often defeated. Many a cold and unanimated epistle has intruded +itself into my hands, when I thought to have found some token full of +gentleness and tenderness, which might have taught my heart to overflow +with rapture. If you knew, fair excellence, how much pain and uneasiness +your silence has given me, you could not surely have been so cruel. The +most rigid decorum could not have been offended by one scanty billet +that might just have informed me, I still retained a tender place in +your recollection. One solitary line would have raised me to a state of +happiness that princes might envy. + +A jealous and contracted mind placed in my situation, might fear to +undergo the imputation of selfishness and interest. He would represent +to himself, how brilliant was your station, how exalted your rank, how +splendid your revenues, and what a poor, deserted, and contemptible +figure I made in the eyes of the world, when your father first honoured +me with his attention. My Matilda were a match for princes. Her external +situation in the highest degree magnificent. Her person lovely and +engaging beyond all the beauty that Italy has to boast. Her mind +informed with the most refined judgment, the most elegant taste, the +most generous sentiments. When the dictates of prudence and virtue flow +from her beauteous lips, philosophers might listen with rapture, sages +might learn wisdom. And is it possible that this all-accomplished +woman can stoop from the dignity of her rank and the greatness of her +pretensions, to a person so obscure, so slenderly qualified as I am? + +But no, my Matilda, I am a stranger to these fears, my breast is +unvisited by the demon of suspicion. I employ no precaution. I do not +seek to constrain my passion. I lay my heart naked before you. I shall +ever maintain the most grateful sense of the benevolent friendship +of your venerable father, of your own unexampled and ravishing +condescension. But love, my amiable Matilda, knows no distinction of +rank. We cannot love without building our ardour upon the sense of a +kind of equality. All obligations must here in a manner cease but those +which are mutual. Those hearts that are sensible to the distance of +benefactor and client, are strangers to the sweetest emotions of this +amiable passion. + +But who is there that is perfectly master of his own character? Who +is there that can certainly foretel what will be his feelings and +sentiments in circumstances yet untried? Do not then, fairest, gentlest, +of thy sex, torture the lover that adores you. Do not persist in cold +and unexpressive silence. A thousand times have those lips made the +chaste confession of my happiness. A thousand times upon that hand have +I sealed my gratitude. Yet do I stand in need of fresh assurances. +Mutual attachment subsists not but in communication and sympathy. I +count the tedious moments. My wayward fancy paints in turn all the +events that are within the region of possibility. Too many of them there +are, against the apprehension of which no precaution can secure me. Do +not, my lovely Matilda, do not voluntarily increase them. Is not the +comfortless distance to which I am banished a sufficient punishment, +without adding to it those uneasinesses it is so much in your power to +remove? + + + + +Letter XVI + +_Matilda della Colonna to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +Is it possible you can put an unfavourable construction upon my silence? +You are not to be informed that it was nothing more than the simplest +dictates of modesty and decency required. I cannot believe, that if I +had offended against those dictates, it would not have sunk me a little +in your esteem. Your sex indeed is indulged with a large and extensive +licence. But in ours, my dear friend, propriety and decorum cannot be +too assiduously preserved. Our reputation is at the disposal of every +calumniator. The minutest offence can cast a shade upon it. A long and +uninterrupted course of the most spotless virtue can never restore it to +its first unsullied brightness. Many and various indeed are the steps by +which it may be tarnished, short of the sacrifice of chastity, and the +total dereliction of character. + +There is no test of gentleness and integrity of heart more obvious, +than the discharge of the filial duties. A truly mild and susceptible +disposition will sympathize in the concerns of a parent with the most +ardent affection, will be melted by his sufferings into the tenderest +sorrow. The child whose heart feels not with peculiar anguish the +distresses of him, from whom he derived his existence, to whom he owes +the most important obligations, and with whom he has been in habits +of unbounded confidence from earliest infancy, must be of a character +harsh, savage, and detestable. How can he be expected to melt over the +tale of a stranger? How can his hand be open to relief and munificence? +How can he discharge aright the offices of a family, and the duties of a +citizen? + +Recollect, my friend, never had any child a parent more gentle and +affectionate than mine. I was all his care and all his pride. He knew no +happiness but that of gratifying my desires, and outrunning my wishes. +He was my all. I have for several years, and even before I was able +properly to understand her value, lost a tender mother. In my surviving +parent then all my attachments centered. He was my protector and my +guide, he was my friend and my companion. All other connexions were +momentary and superficial. And till I knew my St. Julian, my warmest +affections never strayed from my father's roof. + +Do not however imagine, that in the moment of my sincerest sorrow, I +scarcely for one hour forget you. My sentiments have ever been the same. +They are the dictates of an upright and uncorrupted heart, and I do not +blush to own them. + +Undissipated in an extensive circle of acquaintance, untaught by the +prejudices of my education to look with a favourable eye upon the +majority of the young nobility of the present age, I saw you with a +heart unexperienced and unworn with the knowledge and corruptions of +the world. I saw you in your character totally different from the young +persons of your own rank. And the differences I discovered, were all +of them such, as recommended you to my esteem. My unguarded heart had +received impressions, even before the voice of my father had given a +sanction to my inclinations, that would not easily have been effaced. +When he gave me to you, he gave you a willing hand. Your birth is +noble and ancient as my own. Fortune has no charms for me. I have no +attachment to the brilliant circle, and the gaiety of public life. My +disposition, naturally grave and thoughtful, demands but few associates, +beside those whose hearts are in some degree in unison with my own. I +had rather live in a narrow circle united with a man, distinguished by +feeling, virtue, and truth, than be the ornament of courts, and the envy +of kingdoms. + +Previous to my closing this letter, I sent to enquire of the _maitre +d'hotel_ of the villa of the marquis, in what forwardness were his +preparations for the intended visit of his master. He informs me that +they will be finished in two days at farthest. I suppose it will not be +long from that time, before his lordship will set out from Naples. You +of course are inseparable from him. + + +END OF VOLUME I _Italian Letters_ + + + + + + +VOLUME II + + + +Letter I + +_The Marquis of Pescara to the Marquis of San Severino_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +My dear lord, + +I need not tell you that this place is celebrated for one of the most +beautiful spots of the habitable globe. Every thing now flourishes. +Nature puts on her gayest colours, and displays all her charms. The +walks among the more cultivated scenes of my own grounds, and amidst the +wilder objects of this favoured region are inexpressibly agreeable. The +society of my pensive and sentimental friend is particularly congenial +with the scenery around me. Do not imagine that I am so devoid of taste +as not to derive exquisite pleasure from these sources. Yet believe me, +there are times in which I regret the vivacity of your conversation, and +the amusements of Naples. + +Is this, my dear Ferdinand, an argument of a corrupted taste, or an +argument of sound and valuable improvement? Much may be said on both +sides. Of the mind justly polished, without verging to the squeamish and +effeminate, nature exhibits the most delightful sources of enjoyment. He +that turns aside from the simplicity of her compositions with disgust, +for the sake of the over curious and laboured entertainments of which +art is the inventor, may justly be pronounced unreasonably nice, and +ridiculously fastidious. + +But then on the other hand, the finest taste is of all others the most +easily offended. The mind most delicate and refined, requires the +greatest variety of pleasures. So much for logic. Let me tell you, +however, be it wisdom or be it folly, I owe it entirely to you. It is a +revolution in my humour, to which I was totally a stranger when I left +Palermo. + +I have not yet seen this rich and celebrated heiress of whom you told me +so much. It is several years since I remember to have been in company +where she was, and it is more than probable that I should not even know +her. If however I were to give full credit to the rhapsodies of my good +friend the count, whose description of her, by the way, has something +in it of romantic and dignified, which pleases me better than yours, as +luscious as it is, I should imagine her a perfect angel, beautiful +as Venus, chaste as Diana, majestic as the mother of the gods, and +enchanting as the graces. I know not why, but since I have studied the +persons of the fair under your tuition, I have felt the most impatient +desire to be acquainted with this _nonpareil_. + +No person however has yet been admitted into the sanctuary of the +goddess, except the person destined by the late duke to be her husband. +He himself has seen her but for a second time. It should seem, that as +many ceremonies were necessary in approaching her, as in being presented +to his holiness; and that she were as invisible as the emperor +of Ispahan. I am however differently affected by the perpetual +conversations of St. Julian upon the subject, than I am apt to think you +would be. You would probably first laugh at his extravagance, and then +be fatigued to death with his perseverance. For my part, I am agreeably +entertained with the romance of his sentiments, and highly charmed with +their disinterestedness and their virtue. + +Yes, my dear marquis, you may talk as you please of the wildness and +impracticability of the sentiments of my amiable solitaire, they are at +least in the highest degree amusing and beautiful. There is a voice +in every breast, whose feelings have not yet been entirely warped by +selfishness, responsive to them. It is in vain that the man of gaiety +and pleasure pronounces them impracticable, the generous heart gives the +lie to his assertions. He must be under the power of the poorest and +most despicable prejudices, who would reduce all human characters to a +level, who would deny the reality of all those virtues that the world +has idolized through revolving ages. Nothing can be disputed with +less plausibility, than that there are in the world certain noble and +elevated spirits, that rise above the vulgar notions and the narrow +conduct of the bulk of mankind, that soar to the sublimest heights of +rectitude, and from time to time realize those virtues, of which the +interested and illiberal deny the possibility. + +I can no more doubt, than I do of the truth of these apothegms, that the +count de St. Julian is one of these honourable characters. He treads +without the airy circle of dissipation. He is invulnerable to the +temptations of folly; he is unshaken by the examples of profligacy. +They are such characters as his that were formed to rescue mankind from +slavery, to prop the pillars of a declining state, and to arrest Astraea +in her re-ascent to heaven. They are such characters whose virtues +surprize astonished mortals, and avert the vengeance of offended heaven. + +Matilda della Colonna is, at least in the apprehension of her admirer, a +character quite as singular in her own sex as his can possibly appear to +me. They were made for each other. She is the only adequate reward that +can be bestowed upon his exalted virtues. Oh, my Ferdinand, there must +be a happiness reserved for such as these, which must make all other +felicity comparatively weak and despicable. It is the accord of the +purest sentiments. It is the union of guiltless souls. Its nature is +totally different from that of the casual encounter of the sexes, or +the prudent conjunctions in which the heart has no share. In the +considerations upon which it is founded, corporeal fitnesses occupy but +a narrow and subordinate rank, personal advantages and interest are +admitted for no share. It is the sympathy of hearts, it is the most +exalted species of social intercourse. + + + +Letter II + +_The Count de St. Julian to Signor Hippolito Borelli_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +My dear Hippolito, + +I have already acquainted you as they occurred, with those +circumstances, which have introduced so incredible an alteration in my +prospects and my fortune. From being an outcast of the world, a young +man without protectors, a nobleman without property, a lover despairing +ever to possess the object of his vows, I am become the most favoured +of mortals, the happiest of mankind. There is no character that I envy, +there is no situation for which I would exchange my own. My felicity is +of the colour of my mind; my prospects are those, for the fruition of +which heaven created me. What have I done to deserve so singular a +blessing? Is it possible that no wayward fate, no unforeseen and +tremendous disaster should come between me and my happiness? + +My Matilda is the most amiable of women. Every day she improves upon +me. Every day I discover new attractions in this inexhaustible mine of +excellence. Never was a character so simple, artless and undisguised. +Never was a heart so full of every tender sensibility. How does her +filial sorrow adorn, and exalt her? How ravishing is that beauty, that +is embellished with melancholy, and impearled with tears? + +Even when I suffer most from the unrivalled delicacy of her sentiments, +I cannot but admire. Ah, cruel Matilda, and will not one banishment +satisfy the inflexibility of thy temper, will not all my past sufferings +suffice to glut thy severity? Is it still necessary that the happiness +of months must be sacrificed to the inexorable laws of decorum? Must I +seek in distant climes a mitigation of my fate? Yes, too amiable tyrant, +thou shalt be obeyed. It will be less punishment to be separated from +thee by mountains crowned with snow, by impassable gulphs, by boundless +oceans, than to reside in the same city, or even under the same roof, +and not be permitted to see those ravishing beauties, to hear that sweet +expressive voice. + +You know, my dear Hippolito, the unspeakable obligations I have received +from my amiable friend, the marquis of Pescara. Though these obligations +can never be fully discharged, yet I am happy to have met with an +opportunity of demonstrating the gratitude that will ever burn in my +heart. My Rinaldo even rates the service I have undertaken to perform +for him beyond its true value. Would it were in my power to serve him as +greatly, as essentially as I wish! + +The estate of the house of Pescara in Castile is very considerable. +Though it has been in the possession of the noble ancestors of my friend +for near two centuries, yet, by the most singular fortune, there has +lately arisen a claimant to more than one half of it. His pleas, though +destitute of the smallest plausibility, are rendered formidable by the +possession he is said to have of the patronage and favour of the first +minister. In a word, it is become absolutely necessary for his lordship +in person, or some friend upon whose integrity and discretion he can +place the firmest dependence, to solicit his cause in the court of +Madrid. The marquis himself is much disinclined to the voyage, and +though he had too much delicacy in his own temper, and attachment to my +interest, to propose it himself, I can perceive that he is not a little +pleased at my having voluntarily undertaken it. + +My disposition is by nature that of an insatiable curiosity. I was not +born to be confined within the narrow limits of one island, or one +petty kingdom. My heart is large and capacious. It rises above local +prejudices; it forms to itself a philosophy equally suited to all the +climates of the earth; it embraces the whole human race. The majority +of my countrymen entertain the most violent aversion for the Spanish +nation. For my own part I can perceive in them many venerable and +excellent qualities. Their friendship is inviolable, their politeness +and hospitality of the most disinterested nature. Their honour is +unimpeached, and their veracity without example. Even from those traits +in their character, that appear the most absurd, or that are too often +productive of the most fatal consequences, I expect to derive amusement +and instruction. I doubt not, however pure be my flame for Matilda, that +the dissipation and variety of which this voyage will be productive, +will be friendly to my ease. I shall acquire wisdom and experience. I +shall be better prepared to fill up that most arduous of all characters, +the respectable and virtuous father of a family. + +In spite however of all these considerations, with which I endeavour to +console myself in the chagrin that preys upon my mind, the approaching +separation cannot but be in the utmost degree painful to me. In spite of +the momentary fortitude, that tells me that any distance is better than +the being placed within the reach of the mistress of my soul without +being once permitted to see her, I cannot help revolving with the most +poignant melancholy, the various and infinitely diversified objects that +shall shortly divide us. Repeatedly have I surveyed with the extremest +anguish the chart of those seas that I am destined to pass. I have +measured for the twentieth time the course that is usually held in this +voyage. Every additional league appears to me a new barrier between me +and my wishes, that I fear to be able to surmount a second time. + +And is it possible that I can leave my Matilda without a guardian to +protect her from unforeseen distress, without a monitor to whisper +to her in every future scene the constancy of her St. Julian? No, my +Hippolito, the objection would be insuperable. But thanks, eternal +thanks to propitious heaven! I have a friend in whom I can confide as my +own soul, whose happiness is dearer to me than my own. Yes, my Rinaldo, +whatever may be my destiny, in whatever scenes I may be hereafter +placed, I will recollect that my Matilda is under thy protection, and be +satisfied. I will recollect the obligations you have already conferred +upon me, and I will not hesitate to add to them that, which is greater +than them all. + + + +Letter III + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Naples_ + +Best of friends, + +Every thing is now prepared for my voyage. The ship will weigh anchor in +two days at farthest. This will be the last letter you will receive from +me before I bid adieu to Italy. + +I have not yet shaken off the melancholy with which the affecting leave +I took of the amiable Matilda impressed me. Never will the recollection +be effaced from my memory. It was then, my Rinaldo, that she laid aside +that delicate reserve, that lovely timidity, which she had hitherto +exhibited. It was then that she poured forth, without restraint, all the +ravishing tenderness of her nature. How affecting were those tears? How +heart-rending the sighs that heaved her throbbing bosom? When will those +tender exclamations cease to vibrate in my ear? When will those piercing +cries give over their task, the torturing this constant breast? You, my +friend, were witness to the scene, and though a mere spectator, I am +mistaken if it did not greatly affect you. + +Hear me, my Rinaldo, and let my words sink deep into your bosom. Into +your hands I commit the most precious jewel that was ever intrusted to +the custody of a friend. You are the arbiter of my fate. More, much more +than my life is in your disposal. If you should betray me, you will +commit a crime, that laughs to scorn the frivolity of all former +baseness. You will inflict upon me a torture, in comparison of which all +the laborious punishments that tyrants have invented, are couches of +luxury, are beds of roses. + +Forgive me, my friend, the paroxysm of a lover's rage. I should deserve +all the punishments it would be in your power to inflict, if I harboured +the remotest suspicion of your fidelity. No, I swear by all that is +sacred, it is my richest treasure, it is my choicest consolation. +Wherever I am, I will bear it about with me. In every reverse of fortune +I will regard it as the surest pledge of my felicity. Mountains shall +be hurled from their eternal bases, lofty cities shall be crumbled into +dust, but my Rinaldo shall never be false. + +It is this consideration that can only support me. The trials I undergo +are too great for the most perfect fortitude. I quit a treasure that the +globe in its inexhausted variety never equalled. I retire to a distance, +where months may intervene ere the only intelligence that can give +pleasure to my heart, shall reach me. I shall count however with the +most unshaken security upon my future happiness. Walls of brass, and +bars of iron could not give me that assured peace. + + + +Letter IV + +_Matilda della Colonna to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +Why is it, my friend, that you are determined to fly to so immense +a distance? You call me cruel, you charge me with unfeelingness and +inflexibility, and yet to my prayers you are deaf, to my intreaties you +are inexorable. + +I have satisfied all the claims of decorum. I have fulfilled with rigid +exactness the laws of decency. One advantage you at least gain by the +distance you are so desirous to place between us. My sentiments are less +guarded. Reputation and modesty have fewer claims upon a woman, who can +have no intercourse with her lover but by letter. My feelings are less +restrained. For the anxiety, which distance inspires, awakens all the +tenderness of my nature, and raises a tempest in my soul that will not +be controled. + +Oh, my St. Julian, till this late and lasting separation, I did not know +all the affection I bore you. Ever since you were parted from my aching +eyes, I have not known the serenity of a moment. The image of my friend +has been the constant companion of my waking hours, and has visited me +again in my dreams. The unknown dangers of the ocean swell in my eyes to +ten times their natural magnitude. Fickle and inconstant enemy, how +much I dread thee! Oh wast the lord of all my wishes in safety to the +destined harbour! May all the winds be still! May the tempests forget +their wonted rage! May every guardian power protect his voyage! Open +not, oh ocean, thy relentless bosom to yield him a watery grave! For +once be gentle and auspicious! Listen and grant a lover's prayer! +Restore him to my presence! May the dear sight of him once more refresh +these longing eyes! You will find this letter accompanied with a small +parcel, in which I have inclosed the miniature of myself, which I +have often heard you praise as a much better likeness than the larger +pictures. It will probably afford you some gratification during that +absence of which you so feelingly complain. It will suggest to you those +thoughts upon the subject of our love that have most in them of the calm +and soothing. It will be no unpleasant companion of your reveries, and +may sometimes amuse and cheat your deluded fancy. + + + +Letter V + +_The Answer_ + +_Alicant_ + +I am just arrived at this place, after a tedious and disagreeable +voyage. As we passed along the coast of Barbary we came in sight of many +of the corsairs with which that part of the world is infested. One of +them in particular, of larger burden than the rest, gave us chace, and +for some time we thought ourselves in considerable danger. Our ship +however proved the faster sailer, and quickly carried us out of sight. +Having escaped this danger, and nearly reached the Baleares, we were +overtaken by a tremendous storm. For some days the ship was driven at +the mercy of the winds; and, as the coast of those islands is surrounded +with invisible rocks, our peril was considerable. + +In the midst of danger however my thoughts were full of Matilda. Had the +ocean buried me in its capacious bosom, my last words would have been of +you, my last vows would have been made for your happiness. Had we been +taken by the enemy and carried into slavery, slavery would have had no +terrors, but those which consisted in the additional bars it would have +created between me and the mistress of my heart. It would have been of +little importance whether I had fallen to the lot of a despot, gentle or +severe. It would have separated us for years, perhaps for ever. Could I, +who have been so much afflicted by the separation of a few months, have +endured a punishment like this? That soft intercourse, that wafts the +thoughts of lovers to so vast a distance, that mimics so well an actual +converse, that cheats the weary heart of all its cares, would have been +dissolved for ever. Little then would have been the moment of a few +petty personal considerations; I should not long have survived. + +I only wait at this place to refresh myself for a few days, from a +fatigue so perfectly new to me, and then shall set out with all speed +for Madrid. My Matilda will readily believe that that business which +detains me at so vast a distance from my happiness, will be dispatched +with as much expedition as its nature will admit. I will not sacrifice +to any selfish considerations the interest of my friend, I will not +neglect the minutest exertion by which it may be in my power to serve +his cause. But the moment I have discharged what I owe to him, no power +upon earth shall delay my return, no not for an hour. + +I have seen little as yet of that people of whom I have entertained +so favourable ideas. But what I have seen has perfectly equalled my +expectation. Their carriage indeed is cold and formal, beyond what it is +possible for any man to have a conception of, who has not witnessed it. +But those persons to whom I had letters have received me with the utmost +attention and politeness. Sincerity is visible in all they do, and +constancy in all their modes of thinking. There is not a man among them, +who has once distinguished you, and whose favour it is possible for you +to forfeit without having deserved it. Will not an upright and honest +mind pardon many defects to a virtue like this? + +Oh, my Matilda, shall I recommend to you to remember your St. Julian, to +carry the thoughts of him every where about with you? Shall I make to +you a thousand vows of unalterable attachment? No, best of women, I will +not thus insult the integrity of your heart. I will not thus profane +the purity of our loves. The world in all its treasure has not a second +Matilda, and if it had, my heart is fixed, all the tender sensibilities +of my soul are exhausted. Your St. Julian was not made to change with +every wind. + + + +Letter VI + +_Matilda della Colonna to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +I begin this letter without having yet received any news from you since +you quitted the port of Naples. The time however that was requisite for +that purpose is already more than expired. Oh, my friend, if before +the commencement of this detested voyage, the dangers that attended it +appeared to me in so horrid colours, how think you that I support +them now? My imagination sickens, my poor heart is distracted at the +recollection of them. Why would you encounter so many unnecessary +perils? Why would you fly to so remote a climate? Many a friend could +have promoted equally well the interests of the marquis of Pescara, but +few lives are so valuable as thine. Many a friend could have solicited +this business in the court of Madrid, but believe me, there are few +that can boast that they possessed the heart of a Matilda. Simple and +sincere, I do not give myself away by halves. With a heart full of +tenderness and sensibility, I am affected more, much more than the +generality of my sex, with circumstances favourable or adverse. Ah +cruel, cruel St. Julian, was it for a lover to turn a deaf ear to the +intreaties of a mistress, that lived not but to honour his virtues, and +to sympathize in his felicity? Did I not for you lay aside that triple +delicacy and reserve, in which I prided myself? Were not my sighs and +tears visible and undisguised? Did not my cries pierce the lofty dome of +my paternal mansion, and move all hearts but yours? + +They tell me, my St. Julian, that I am busy to torment myself, that I +invent a thousand imaginary misfortunes. And is this to torment myself +to address my friend in these poor lines? Is this to deceive myself with +unreal evils? Even while Matilda cherishes the fond idea of pouring +out her complaints before him, my St. Julian may be a lifeless corse. +Perhaps he now lies neglected and unburied in the beds of the ocean. +Perhaps he has fallen a prey to barbarous men, more deaf and merciless +than the warring elements. Distracting ideas! And does this head live to +conceive them? Is this hand dull and insensible enough to write them? + +Believe me, my friend, my heart is tender and will easily break. It was +not formed to sustain a series of trials. It was not formed to encounter +a variety of distress. Oh, fly then, hasten to my arms. All those ideas +of form and decency, all the artificial decorums of society that I once +cherished, are dissolved before the darker reflections, the apprehensive +anxieties that your present situation has awakened. Yes, my St. Julian, +come to my arms. The moment you appear to claim me I am yours. Adieu to +the management of my sex. From this moment I commit all my concerns +to your direction. From this moment, your word shall be to me an +irrevocable law, which without reasoning, and without refinement, I will +implicitly obey. + + * * * * * + +I have received your letter. The pleasure it affords me is exquisite in +proportion to my preceding anguish. From the confession of the bravest +of men it now appears that my apprehensions were not wholly unfounded. +And yet upon reviewing what I have written, I almost blush for my +weakness. But it shall not be effaced. Disguise is little becoming +between lovers at so immense a distance. No, my friend, you shall know +all the interest you possess in my heart. I will at least afford you +that consolation amidst the pangs of absence. May heaven be propitious +in what yet remains before you! I will even weary it with my prayers. +May it return you to my arms safe and unhurt, and no other calamity +shall wring from me a murmur, or a sigh! + +One thing however it is necessary I should correct. I do not mean to +accuse you for the voyage you have undertaken, however it may distress +me. In my calmer moments I feel for the motives of it the warmest +approbation. It was the act of disinterested friendship. Every prejudice +of the heart pleaded against it. Love, that passion which reigns without +a rival in your breast, forbad the compliance. It was a virtue worthy +of you. There needed but this to convince me that you were infinitely +superior to the whole race of your fellow mortals. + + + + +Letter VII + +_The Answer_ + +_Buen Retiro_ + +Ten thousand thanks to the most amiable of women for the letter that has +just fallen into my hands. Yes, Matilda, if my heart were pierced on +every side with darts, and my life's blood seemed ready to follow every +one of them, your enchanting epistle would be balm to all my wounds, +would sooth all my cares. Tenderest, gentlest of dispositions, where +ever burned a love whose flame was pure as thine? Where ever was truth +that could vie with the truth of Matilda? Hereafter when the worthless +and the profligate exclaim upon the artifices of thy sex, when the lover +disappointed, wrung with anguish, imprecates curses on the kind, name +but Matilda, and every murmur shall be hushed; name but Matilda, and +the universal voice of nature shall confess that the female form is the +proper residence, the genuine temple of angelic goodness. + +I had upon the whole a most agreeable journey from Alicant to Madrid. It +would be superfluous to describe to a mind so well informed as yours, +the state of the country. You know how thin is its population, and how +indolent is the character of its inhabitants. Satisfied with possessing +the inexhaustible mines of Mexico and Peru, they imagine that the world +was made for them, that the rest of mankind were destined to labour that +they might be maintained in supineness and idleness. The experience of +more than two centuries has not been able to convince them of their +error, and amidst all their poverty, they still retain as much pride +as ever. The country however is naturally luxuriant and delicious; and +there are a considerable number of prospects in the provinces through +which I have passed that will scarcely yield to any that Italy has to +boast. As soon as I arrived at the metropolis I took up my residence at +this place, which is inexpressibly crowded with the residences of the +nobility and grandees. It is indeed one of the most beautiful spots in +nature, as it concentres at once the simplest rusticity with the utmost +elegance of refinement and society. My reception has been in the highest +degree flattering, and I please myself with the idea that I have already +made some progress in the business of the marquis of Pescara. + +You are not insensible that my character, at least in some of its +traits, is not uncongenial to that of a Spaniard. Whether it be owing to +this or any other cause I know not, but I believe never was any man, so +obscure as myself, distinguished in so obliging a manner by the first +personages in the kingdom. In return I derive from their society the +utmost satisfaction. Their lofty notions of honour, their gravity, their +politeness, and their sentimental way of thinking, have something in +them that affords me infinite entertainment and pleasure. Oh, Matilda, +how much more amiable is that character, that carries the principles +of honour and magnanimity to a dangerous extreme, than that which +endeavours to level all distinctions of mankind, and would remove and +confound the eternal barriers of virtue and vice! + +One of the most agreeable connexions I have made is with the duke of +Aranda. The four persons of whom his family is composed, his grace, the +duchess, their son and daughter, are all of them characters extremely +interesting and amiable. The lady Isabella is esteemed the first beauty +of the court of Madrid. The young count is tall, graceful, and manly, +with a fire and expression in his fine blue eyes beyond any thing I +ever saw. He has all the vivacity and enterprize of youth, without the +smallest tincture of libertinism and dissipation. I know not how it is, +but I find myself perfectly unable to describe his character without +running into paradox. He is at once serious and chearful. His +seriousness is so full of enthusiasm and originality, that it is the +most unlike in the world to the cold dogmatism of pedantry, or the +turgid and monotonous stile of the churchman. His chearfulness is not +the gaiety of humour, is not the brilliancy of wit, it is the result of +inexhaustible fancy and invincible spirit. In a word, I never met with +a character that interested me so much at first sight, and were it not +that I am bound by insuperable ties to my native soil, it would be the +first ambition of my heart to form with him the ties of an everlasting +friendship. + +Once more, my Matilda, adieu. You are under the protection of the most +generous of men, and the best of friends. I owe to the marquis of +Pescara, a thousand obligations that can never be compensated. Let it be +thy care thou better half of myself to receive him with that attention +and politeness, which is due to the worth of his character, and the +immensity of his friendship. There is something too sweet and enchanting +in the mild benevolence of Matilda, not to contribute largely to +his happiness. It is in your power, best of women, by the slightest +exertions, to pay him more than I could do by a life of labour. + + + +Letter VIII + +_The Same to the Same_ + + +_Buen Retiro_ + +I little thought during so distressing a period of absence, to have +written you a letter so gay and careless as my last. I confess indeed +the societies of this place afforded me so much entertainment, that in +the midst of generous friendship and unmerited kindness, I almost forgot +the anguish of a lover, and the pains of banishment. + +Alas, how dearly am I destined to pay for the most short-lived +relaxation! Every pleasure is now vanished, and I can scarcely believe +that it ever existed. I enter into the same societies, I frequent the +same scenes, and I wonder what it was that once entertained me. Yes, +Matilda, the enchantment is dissolved. All the gay colours that anon +played upon the objects around me, are fled. Chaos is come again. The +world is become all dreary solitude and impenetrable darkness. I am like +the poor mariner, whose imagination was for a moment caught with the +lofty sound of the thunder, round whom the sheeted lightning gilded the +foaming waves, and who then sinks for ever in the abyss. + +It is now four eternal months, and not one line from the hand of Matilda +has blessed these longing eyes, or cooled my burning brain. Opportunity +after opportunity has slipped away, one moment swelled with hope has +succeeded another, but to no purpose. The mail has not been more +constant to its place of destination than myself. But it was all +disappointment. It was in vain that I raged with unmeaning fury, and +demanded that with imprecation which was not to be found. Every calm was +misery to me. Every tempest tore my tortured heart a thousand ways. For +some time every favourable wind was balm to my soul, and nectar to my +burning frame. But it is over now--. How, how is it that I am to account +for this astonishing silence? Has nature changed her eternal laws, and +is Matilda false? Has she forgotten the poor St. Julian, upon whom she +once bestowed her tenderness with unstinted prodigality? Can that angel +form hide the foulest thoughts? Have those untasted lips abjured their +virgin vows? And has that hand been given to another? Hence green-eyed +jealousy, accursed fiend, with all thy train of black suspicions! No, +thou shall not find a moment's harbour in my breast. I will none of +thee. It were treason to the chastest of hearts, it were sacrilege to +the divinest form that ever visited this lower world, but to admit the +possibility of Matilda's infidelity. + +And where, ah where, shall I take refuge from these horrid thoughts? To +entertain them were depravity were death. I fly from them, and where is +it that I find myself? Surrounded by a thousand furies. Oh, gracious and +immaculate providence, why hast thou opened so many doors to tremendous +mischief? Innumerable accidents of nature may tear her from me for ever. +All the wanton brutalities that history records, and that the minds of +unworthy men can harbour, start up in dreadful array before me. + +Cruel and inflexible Matilda! thou once wert bounteous as the hand of +heaven, wert tender as the new born babe. What is it that has changed +thy disposition to the hard, the wanton, the obdurate? Behold a lover's +tears! Behold how low thou hast sunk him, whom thou once didst dignify +by the sweet and soothing name of _thy friend_! If ever the voice +of anguish found a passage to your heart, if those cheeks were ever +moistened with the drops of sacred pity, oh, hear me now! But I will +address myself to the rocks. I will invoke the knotted oaks and the +savage wolves of the forest. They will not refuse my cry, but Matilda is +deaf as the winds, inexorable as the gaping wave. + +In the state of mind in which I am, you will naturally suppose that I +am full of doubt and irresolution. Twice have I resolved to quit the +kingdom of Spain without delay, and to leave the business of friendship +unfinished. But I thank God these thoughts were of no long duration. No, +Matilda, let me be set up as a mark for the finger of scorn, let me be +appointed by heaven as a victim upon which to exhaust all its arrows. +Let me be miserable, but let me never, never deserve to be so. +Affliction, thou mayest beat upon my heart in one eternal storm! +Trouble, thou mayest tear this frame like a whirlwind! But never shall +all thy terrors shake my constant mind, or teach me to swerve for a +moment from the path I have marked out to myself! All other consolation +may be taken from me, but from the bulwark of innocence and integrity I +will never be separated. + + + +Letter IX + +_The Marquis of Pescara to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +I can never sufficiently thank you for the indefatigable friendship you +have displayed in the whole progress of my Spanish affairs. I have just +received a letter from the first minister of that court, by which I am +convinced that it cannot be long before they be terminated in the most +favourable manner. I scarcely know how, after all the obligations you +have conferred upon me, to intreat that you would complete them, by +paying a visit to Zamora before you quit the kingdom, and putting my +affairs there in some train, which from the negligence incident to a +disputed title, can scarcely fail to be in disorder. + +Believe me there is nothing for which I have more ardently longed, than +to clasp you once again in my arms. The additional procrastination which +this new journey will create, cannot be more afflicting to you than it +is to me. Abridge then, I intreat you, as much as possible, those delays +which are in some degree inevitable, and let me have the agreeable +surprize of holding my St. Julian to my breast before I imagined I had +reason to expect his return. + + + +Letter X + +_The Answer_ + + +_Zamora_ + +My dear lord, + +It is with the utmost pleasure that I have it now in my power to assure +you that your affair is finally closed at the court of Madrid, in a +manner the most advantageous and honourable to your name and family. You +will perceive from the date of this letter that I had no need of the +request you have made in order to remind me of my duty to my friend. +I was no sooner able to quit the capital with propriety, than I +immediately repaired hither. The derangement however of your affairs at +this place is greater than either of us could have imagined, and it +will take a considerable time to reduce them to that order, which shall +render them most beneficial to the peasant, and most productive to the +lord. + +The employment which I find at this place, serves in some degree to +dissipate the anguish of my mind. It is an employment embellished +by innocence, and consecrated by friendship. It is therefore of all +pursuits that which has the greatest tendency to lull the sense of +misery. + +Rinaldo, I had drawn the pangs of absence with no flattering pencil. I +had expressed them in the most harsh and aggravated colours. But dark +and gloomy as were the prognostics I had formed to myself, they, alas, +were but shadows of what was reserved for me. The event laughs to scorn +the conceptions I had entertained. Explain to me, best, most faithful of +friends, for you only can, what dark and portentous meaning is concealed +beneath the silence of Matilda. So far from your present epistle +assisting the conjectures of my madding brain, it bewilders me more +than ever. My friend dates his letter from the very place in which she +resides, and yet by not a single word does he inform me how, and what +she is. + +It is now six tedious months since a single line has reached me from her +hand. I have expostulated with the voice of apprehension, with the voice +of agony, but to no purpose. Had it not been for the tenfold obligation +in which I am bound to the best of friends, I had long, very long ere +this, deserted the kingdom of Spain for ever. The concerns of no man +upon earth, but those of my Rinaldo, could have detained me. Had they +related to myself alone, I had not wasted a thought on them. And yet +here I am at a greater distance from the centre of my solicitude than +ever. + +You, my friend, know not the exquisite and inexpressible anguish of a +mind, in doubt about that in which he is most interested. I have not the +most solitary and slender clue to guide me through the labyrinth. All +the events, all the calamities that may have overtaken me, are alike +probable and improbable, and there is not one of them that I can invent, +which can possibly have escaped the knowledge of that friend, into whose +hands I committed my all. Sickness, infidelity, death itself, all the +misfortunes to which humanity is heir, are alike certain and palpable. + +Oh, my Rinaldo, it was a most ill-judged and mistaken indulgence, that +led you to suppress the story of my disaster. Give me to know it. It may +be distressful, it may be tremendous. But be it as it will, there is +not a misfortune in the whole catalogue of human woes, the knowledge of +which would not be elysium to what I suffer. To be told the whole is +to know the worst. Time is the medicine of every anguish. There is no +malady incident to a conscious being, which if it does not annihilate +his existence, does not, after having attained a crisis, insensibly fall +away and dissolve. But apprehension, apprehension is hell itself. It +is infinite as the range of possibility. It is immortal as the mind +in which it takes up its residence. It gains ground every moment. +Compounded as it is of hope and fear, there is not a moment in which +it does not plume the wings of expectation. It prepares for itself +incessant, eternal disappointment. It grows for ever. At first it may +be trifling and insignificant, but anon it swells its giant limbs, and +hides its head among the clouds. + +Lost as I am to the fate, the character, the present dispositions of +Matilda, I have now no prop to lean upon but you. Upon you I place an +unshaken confidence. In your fidelity I can never be deceived. I owe you +greater obligations than ever man received from man before. When I was +forlorn and deserted by all the world, it was then you flew to save me. +You left the blandishments that have most power over the unsuspecting +mind of youth, you left the down of luxury, to search me out. It was you +that saved my life in the forest of Leontini. They were your generous +offers that afforded me the first specimens of that benevolence and +friendship, which restored me from the annihilation into which I was +plunged, to an existence more pleasant and happy than I had yet known. + +Rinaldo, I committed to your custody a jewel more precious than all the +treasures of the east. I have lost, I am deprived of her. Where shall I +seek her? In what situation, under what character shall I discover her? +Believe me, I have not in all the paroxysms of grief, entertained a +doubt of you. I have not for a moment suffered an expression of blame to +escape my lips. But may I not at least know from you, what it is that +has effected this strange alteration, to what am I to trust, and what is +the fate that I am to expect for the remainder of an existence of which +I am already weary? + +Yes, my dear marquis, life is now a burden to me. There is nothing but +the dear business of friendship, and the employment of disinterested +affection that could make it supportable. Accept at least this last +exertion of your St. Julian. His last vows shall be breathed for your +happiness. Fate, do what thou wilt me, but shower down thy choicest +blessings on my friend! Whatever thou deniest to my sincere exertions in +the cause of rectitude, bestow a double portion upon that artless and +ingenuous youth, who, however misguided for a moment, has founded even +upon the basis of error, a generous return and an heroic resolution, +which the most permanent exertions of spotless virtue scarce can equal! + + + +Letter XI + +_Signor Hippolito Borelli to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Palermo_ + +My dear lord, + +I have often heard it repeated as an observation of sagacity and +experience, that when one friend has a piece of disagreeable +intelligence to disclose to another, it is better to describe it +directly, and in simple terms, than to introduce it with that kind of +periphrasis and circumlocution, which oftener tends to excite a vague +and impatient horror in the reader, than to prepare him to bear his +misfortune with decency and fortitude. There are however no rules of +this kind that do not admit of exceptions, and I am too apprehensive +that the subject of my present letter may be classed among those +exceptions. St. Julian, I have a tale of horror to unfold! Lay down the +fatal scrowl at this place, and collect all the dignity and resolution +of your mind. You will stand in need of it. Fertile and ingenious as +your imagination often is in tormenting itself, I will defy you to +conceive an event more big with horror, more baleful and tremendous in +all its consequences. + +My friend, I have taken up my pen twenty times, and laid it down as +often again, uncertain in what manner to break my intelligence, and +where I ought to begin. I have been undetermined whether to write to you +at all, or to leave you to learn the disaster and your fate, as fortune +shall direct. It is an ungrateful and unpleasant task. Numbers would +exclaim upon it as imprudence and folly. I might at least suspend the +consummation of your affliction a little longer, and leave you a little +longer to the enjoyment of a deceitful repose. + +But I am terrified at the apprehension of how this news may overtake you +at last. I have always considered the count de St. Julian as one of the +most amiable of mankind. I have looked up to him as a model of virtue, +and I have exulted that I had the honour to be of the same species with +so fair a fame, and so true a heart. I would willingly lighten to a +man so excellent the load of calamity. Why is it, that heaven in +the mysteriousness of its providence, so often visits with superior +affliction, the noblest of her sons? I should be truly sorry, that my +friend should act in a manner unworthy of the tenor of his conduct, and +the exaltation of his character. You are now, my lord at a distance. You +have time to revolve the various circumstances of your condition, and to +fix with the coolest and most mature deliberation the conduct you shall +determine to hold. + +I remember in how pathetic a manner you complained, in the last letter +I received from you before you quitted Italy, of the horrors of +banishment. Little did my friend then know the additional horrors that +fate had in store for him. Two persons there were whom you loved above +all the world, in whom you placed the most unbounded confidence. My poor +friend would never have left Italy but to oblige his Rinaldo, would +never have quitted the daughter of the duke of Benevento, if he could +not have intrusted her to the custody of his Rinaldo. What then will be +his astonishment when he learns that two months have now elapsed since +the heiress of this illustrious house has assumed the title of the +marchioness of Pescara? + +Since this extraordinary news first reached me, I have employed some +pains to discover the means by which an event so surprising has been +effected. I have hitherto however met with a very partial success. There +hangs over it all the darkness of mystery, and all the cowardice of +guilt. There cannot be any doubt that that friend, whom for so long a +time you cherished in your bosom, has proved the most detestable of +villains, the blot and the deformity of the human character. How far the +marchioness has been involved in his guilt, I am not able to ascertain. +Surely however the fickleness and inconstancy of her conduct cannot +be unstained with the pollution of depravity. After the most diligent +search I have learned a report, which was at that time faintly whispered +at Cosenza, that you were upon the point of marriage with the only +daughter of the duke of Aranda. Whether any inferences can be built upon +so trivial a foundation I am totally ignorant. + +But might I be permitted to advise you, you ought to cast these base and +dishonourable characters from your heart for ever. The marquis is surely +unworthy of your sword. He ought not to die, but in a manner deeply +stamped with the infamy in which he has lived. I will not pretend to +alledge to a person so thoroughly master of every question of this +kind, how poor and inadequate is such a revenge: what a barbarous and +unmeaning custom it is, that thus puts the life of the innocent and +injured in the scale with that of the destroyer, and leaves the decision +of immutable differences to skill, to fortune, and a thousand trivial +and contemptible circumstances. You are not to be told how much more +there is of true heroism in refusing than in giving a challenge, in +bearing an injury with superiority and virtuous fortitude, than in +engaging in a Gothic and savage revenge. + +It is not easy perhaps to find a woman, deserving enough to be united +for life to the fate of my friend. Certain I am, if I may be permitted +to deliver my sentiments, there is a levity and folly conspicuous in the +temper of her you have lost, that renders her unworthy of being lamented +by a man of discernment and sobriety. What to desert without management +and without regret, one to whom she had vowed eternal constancy, a man, +of whose amiable character, and glorious qualities she had so many +opportunities of being convinced? Oh, shame where is thy blush? If +iniquity like this, walks the world with impunity, where is the vice +that shall be branded with infamy, to deter the most daring and +profligate offender? Let us state the transaction in a light the most +favourable to the fair inconstant. What thin veil, what paltry arts +were employed by this mighty politician to confound and mislead an +understanding, clear and penetrating upon all other subjects, blind and +feeble only upon that in which the happiness of her life was involved? + +My St. Julian, the exertion of that fortitude with which nature has so +richly endowed you, was never so completely called for in any other +instance. This is the crisis of your life. This is the very tide, which +accordingly as it is improved or neglected, will give a colour to all +your future story. Let not that amiable man, who has found the art of +introducing heroism into common life, and dignifying the most trivial +circumstances by the sublimity and refinedness of his sentiments, now, +in the most important affair, sink below the common level. Now is the +time to display the true greatness of your mind. Now is the time to +prove the consistency of your character. + +A mind, destitute of resources, and unendowed with that elasticity which +is the badge of an immortal nature, when placed in your circumstances, +might probably sink into dereliction and despair. Here in the moral and +useful point of view would be placed the termination of their course. +What a different prospect does the future life of my St. Julian suggest +to me? I see him rising superior to misfortune. I see him refined +like silver from, the furnace. His affections and his thoughts, being +detached by calamity from all consideration of self, he lays out his +exertions in acts of benevolence. His life is one tissue of sympathy and +compassion. He is an extensive benefit to mankind. His influence, like +that of the sun, cheers the hopeless, and illuminates the desolate. How +necessary are such characters as these, to soften the rigour of the +sublunary scene, and to stamp an impression of dignity on the degeneracy +of the human character? + + + +Letter XII [A] + +_Matilda della Colonna to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +I rise from a bed, which you have surrounded with the severest +misfortunes, to address myself to you in this billet. It is in vain, +that in conformity to the dull round of custom, I seek the couch of +repose, sleep is for ever fled from my eyes. I seek it on every side, +but on swift wings it flits far, very far, from me. It is now the +dead of night. All eyes are closed but mine. The senses of all other +creatures through the universe of God, are steeped in forgetfulness. Oh, +sweet, oblivious power, when wilt thou come to my assistance, when wilt +thou shed thy poppies upon this distracted head! + +There was a time, when no human creature was so happy as the now forlorn +Matilda. My days were full of gaiety and innocence. My thoughts were +void of guile, and I imagined all around me artless as myself. I was by +nature indeed weak and timid, trembling at every leaf, shuddering with +apprehension of the lightest danger. But I had a protector generous +and brave, that spread his arms over me, like the wide branches of a +venerable oak, and round whom I clung, like ivy on the trunk. Why didst +thou come, like a cold and murderous blight, to blast all my hopes of +happiness, and to shatter my mellow hangings? + +I have often told you that my heart was not tough and inflexible, to +be played upon with a thousand experiments, and encounter a thousand +trials. But you would not believe me. You could not think my frame +was so brittle and tender, and my heart so easily broken. Inexorable, +incredulous man! you shall not be long in doubt. You shall soon perceive +that I may not endure much more. + +[Footnote A: This letter was written several months earlier than the +preceding, but was intercepted by the marquis of Pescara.] + +How could you deceive me so entirely? I loved you with the sincerest +affection. I thought you artless as truth, as free from vice and folly +as etherial spirits. When your hypocrisy was the most consummate, your +countenance had then in my eye, most the air of innocence. Your visage +was clear and open as the day. But it was a cloak for the blackest +thoughts and the most complicated designs. You stole upon me unprepared, +you found all the avenues to my heart, and you made yourself the arbiter +of my happiness before I was aware. + +You hear me, thou arch impostor! There are punishments reserved for +those, who undermine the peace of virtue, and steal away the tranquility +of innocence. This is thy day. Now thou laughest at all my calamity, +thou mockest all my anguish. But do not think that thy triumph shall be +for ever. That thought would be fond and false as mine have been. The +empire of rectitude shall one day be vindicated. Matilda shall one day +rise above thee. + +But perhaps, St. Julian, it is not yet too late. The door is yet open to +thy return. My claim upon thy heart is prior, better every way than +that of donna Isabella. Leave her as you left me. It will cost you a +repentance less severe. The wounds you have inflicted may yet be healed. +The mischiefs you have caused are not yet irreparable. These fond arms +are open to receive you. To this unresentful bosom you may return in +safety. But remember, I intreat you, the opportunity will be of no long +duration. Every moment is winged with fate. A little more hesitation, +and the irrevocable knot is tied, and Spain will claim you for her own. +A little more delay, and this fond credulous heart, that yet exerts +itself in a few vain struggles, will rest in peace, will crumble into +dust, and no longer be sensible to the misery that devours it. Dear, +long expected moment, speed thy flight! To how many more calamitous days +must these eyes be witness? In how many more nights must they wander +through a material darkness, that is indeed meridian splendour, when +compared with the gloom in which my mind is involved? + +Do not imagine that I have been easily persuaded of the truth of your +infidelity. I have not indulged to levity and credulity. I have heaped +evidence upon evidence. I have resisted the proofs that offered on +every side, till I have become liable to the character of stupid and +insensible. Would it were possible for me to be deceived! But no, the +delusion is vanished. I doubt, I hesitate, no longer. All without is +certainty, and all within is unmingled wretchedness. + + * * * * * + +St. Julian, I once again resume my pen. I was willing you should be +acquainted with all the distress and softness of my heart. I was willing +to furnish you with every motive to redeem the character of a man, +before it were too late. Do not however think me incapable of a spirited +and a steady resolution. It were easy for me to address a letter to the +family of Aranda, I might describe to them all my wrong, and prevent +that dreaded union, the thought of which distresses me. My letter might +probably arrive before the mischief were irretrievable. It is not +likely that so illustrious a house, however they may have previously +condescended to the speciousness of your qualities, would persist in +their design in the face of so cogent objections. But I am not capable +of so weak and poor spirited a revenge. + +Return, my lord, yet return to her you have deserted. Let your return be +voluntary, and it shall be welcome as the light of day to these sad and +weeping eyes, and it shall be dear and precious to my soul, as the ruddy +drops that warm my heart. But I will not force an unwilling victim. Such +a prize would be unworthy of the artless and constant spirit of Matilda. +Such a husband would be the bane of my peace, and the curse of my +hapless days. That he were the once loved St. Julian, would but +aggravate the distress, and rankle the arrow. It would continually +remind me of the dear prospects, and the fond expectations I had once +formed, without having the smallest tendency to gratify them. + + + +Letter XIII + +_The Marquis of Pescara to the Marquis of San Severino_ + +_Cosenza_ + +My dear lord, + +Why is it that a heart feeble and unheroic as mine, should be destined +to encounter so many temptations? I might have passed through the +world honourable and immaculate, had circumstances been a little more +propitious. As it is, I shall probably descend to the grave with a +character, at least among the scrupulous and the honest, reproachful and +scandalous. Now this I can never account for. My heart is a stranger to +all the dark and malignant passions. I am not cursed with an unbounded +ambition. I am a stranger to inexorable hate and fell revenge. I aim at +happiness and gratification. But if it were in my power I would have all +my fellow-creatures happy as myself. + +Why is the fair Matilda so incomparably beautiful and so inexpressibly +attractive? Had her temper been less sweet and undesigning, had her +understanding been less delicate and refined, had not the graces dwelt +upon those pouting lips, my heart had been sound and unhurt to this +very hour. But to see her every day, to converse with her at all +opportunities, to be regarded by her as her only friend and chosen +protector, tell me, ye gods, what heart, that was not perfectly +invulnerable, that was not totally impregnated with the waters of the +Styx, could have come off victorious from trials like these? + +And yet, my dear Ferdinand, to see the distress of the lovely Matilda, +to see her bosom heave with anguish, and her eyes suffused with tears, +to hear the heart-rending sighs continually bursting from her, in spite +of the fancied resolution, and the sweet pride that fill her soul, how +callous, how void of feeling and sympathy ought the man to be, in whom +objects like these can call up no relentings? Ah, my lord, when I +observe how her tender frame is shaken with misfortune, I am sometimes +ready to apprehend that it totters to its fall, that it is impossible +she should survive the struggling, tumultuous passions that rage within +her. What a glorious prize would then be lost? What would then become +of all the deep contrivances, the mighty politics, that your friendship +suggested? + +And yet, so wayward is my fate, those very objects which might be +expected to awaken the sincerest penitence and regret, now only serve to +give new strength to the passion that devours me, and to make my flame +surmount every obstacle that can oppose its progress. Yes, Matilda, +thou must be mine. Heaven and earth cannot now overturn the irrevocable +decree. It has been the incessant object of my attention to throw in +those artful baits which might best divert the current of her soul. I +have assiduously inflamed her resentment to the highest pitch, and I +flatter myself that I have made some progress towards the concluding +stroke. + +There is no situation in which we stand in greater need of sympathy and +consolation, than in those moments of forlornness and desertion to which +the poor Matilda imagines herself reduced. At these times my friendship +has been most unwearied in its exertions. I have answered sigh with +sigh, and mingled my tears with those of the lovely mourner. Believe me, +Ferdinand, this has not been entirely affectation and hypocrisy. There +is a vein of sensibility in the human heart, that will not permit us to +behold an artless and an innocent distress, at least when surrounded +with all the charms of beauty, without feeling our souls involuntarily +dilated, and our eyes unexpectedly swimming in tears. + +But I have another source of disquietude which is unaccompanied with any +alleviating circumstances. A letter from the count de St. Julian to his +Matilda has just been conveyed to my hands. It is filled with the most +affecting and tender complaints of her silence that can possibly be +imagined. He has too exalted a notion of the fair charmer to attribute +this to lightness and inconstancy. His inventive fancy conjures up a +thousand horrid phantoms, and surrounds the mistress of his soul with +I know not what imaginary calamities. But that passage of the whole +epistle that overwhelms me most, is one, in which, in spite of all the +anguish of his mind, in spite of appearances, he expresses the most +unsuspecting confidence in his false and treacherous friend. He still +recommends me to his Matilda as her best protector and surest guardian. +Ah, my St. Julian, how didst thou deserve to be cursed with an +associate, hollow and deceitful as Rinaldo? + +Yes, marquis, in spite of all the arguments you have alledged to me upon +the subject, I still regard my first and youthful friend, as the most +exalted and the foremost of human beings. You may talk of pride, vanity, +and stoicism, the heart that listens to the imputation feels its +sophistry. It is not vanity, for his virtuous actions are rather +studiously hid from observation, than ostentatiously displayed. Is it +pride? It is a pride that constitutes the truest dignity. It is a pride +worthy of heroes and of gods. What analogy does it bear with the pride +of avarice, and the pride of rank; how is it similar to the haughty +meanness of patronage, and the insatiable cravings of ambition? + +But I must not indulge to reflexions like these. It is to no purpose for +the disinterested tenderness, the unstoical affection of my St. Julian +to start up in array before me. Hence remorse, and all her kindred +passions! I am cruel, obdurate, and unrelenting. Yes, most amiable of +men, you might as well address your cries to the senseless rocks. You +might as well hope with your eloquent and soft complainings to persuade +the crocodile that was ready to devour you. I have passed the Rubicon. +I have taken the irrevocable step. It is too late, ah, much too late to +retreat! + + + +Letter XIV + +_The Marquis of San Severino to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Naples_ + +Joy, uninterrupted, immortal joy to my dear Rinaldo. May all your days +be winged with triumph, and all your nights be rapture. Believe me, I +feel the sincerest congratulation upon the desired event of your long +expected marriage. My lord, you have completed an action that deserves +to be recorded in eternal brass. Why should politics be confined to the +negotiations of ambassadors, and the cabinets of princes? I have often +revolved the question, and by all that is sacred I can see no reason for +it. Is it natural that the unanimating and phlegmatic transactions of +a court should engage a more unwearied attention, awaken a brighter +invention, or incite a more arduous pursuit than those of love? When +beauty solicits the appetite, when the most ravishing tenderness and +susceptibility attract the affections, it is then that the heart is most +distracted and regardless, and the head least fertile in artifice and +stratagem. + +My joy is the more sincere, as I was compelled repeatedly to doubt of +your perseverance. What sense was there in that boyish remorse, and +those idle self-reproaches, in which you frequently employed yourself? +No, Rinaldo, a man ought never to enter upon an heroical and arduous +undertaking without being perfectly composed, and absolutely sure of +himself. What a pitiful figure would my friend have made, had he stopped +in the midway, and let go the angelic prize when it was already within +his grasp? If it had not been for my repeated exhortations, if I had +not watched over you like your guardian genius, would you have been now +flushed with success, and crowned with unfading laurel? + + + +Letter XV + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + + +_Livorno_ + +My lord, + +I hoped before this time to have presented before you the form of +that injured friend, which, if your heart is not yet callous to every +impression, must be more blasting to your sight, than all the chimeras +that can be conjured up by a terrified imagination, or a guilty +conscience. I no sooner received the accursed intelligence at Zamora, +than I flew with the speed of lightning. I permitted no consideration +upon earth to delay me till I arrived at Alicant. But the sea was less +favourable to the impatience of my spirit. I set sail in a boisterous +and unpromising season. I have been long tossed about at the mercy of +the ocean. I thank God, after having a thousand times despaired of it, +that I have at length set foot in a port of Italy. It is distant +indeed, but the ardour of my purpose were sufficient to cut short all +intermission. + +My lord, I trusted you as my own soul. No consideration could have moved +me to entertain a moment's suspicion of your fidelity. I placed in your +hand the most important pledge it ever was my fortune to possess. I +employed no guard. I opened to you an unsuspecting bosom, and you have +stung me to the heart. I gave you the widest opportunity, and it is +through my weak and groundless confidence that you have reached me. You +have employed without scruple all those advantages it put into your +hands. You have undermined me at your ease. I left you to protect my +life's blood, my heart of heart, from every attack, to preserve the +singleness of her affections, and the constancy of her attachment. It +was yours to have breathed into her ear the sighs of St. Julian. It was +yours ambitiously to expatiate upon his amiable qualities. You were +every day to have added fuel to the flame. You were to have presented +Matilda to my arms, more beautiful, more tender, more kind, than she had +ever appeared. From this moment then, let the name of trust be a by-word +for the profligate to scoff at! Let the epithet of friend be a mildew to +the chaste and uncorrupted ear! Let mutual confidence be banished from +the earth, and men, more savage than the brute, devour each other! + +Was it possible, my lord, that you should dream, that the benefits you +had formerly conferred upon me, could deprive my resentment of all its +sting under the present provocation! If you did, believe me, you were +most egregiously mistaken. It is true I owed you much, and heaven +has not cursed me with a heart of steel. What bounds did I set to my +gratitude? I left my natal shore, I braved all the dangers of the ocean, +I fought in foreign climes the power of requital. I fondly imagined that +I could never discharge so vast obligations. But the invention of your +lordship is more fertile than mine. You have found the means to blot +them in a moment. Yes, my lord, from henceforth all contract between +us is canceled. You have set us right upon our first foundations. +Friendship, affection, pity, I give you to the winds! Come to my bosom, +unmixed malignity, black-boiling revenge! You are now the only inmates +welcome to my heart. + +Oh, Rinaldo, that character once so dear to me, that youth over whose +opening inclinations I watched with so unremitting care, is it you that +are the author of so severe a misfortune? I held you to my breast. I +poured upon your head all that magazine of affection and tenderness, +with which heaven had dowered me. Never did one man so ardently love +another. Never did one man interest himself so much in another's truth +and virtue, in another's peace and happiness. I formed you for heroism. +I cultivated those features in your character which might have made +you an ornament to your country and mankind. I strewed your path with +flowers, I made the couch beneath you violets and roses. Hear me, yet +hear me! Learn to perceive all the magnitude of your crime. You have +murdered your friend. You have wounded him in the tenderest part. You +have seduced the purest innocence and the most unexampled truth. For +is it possible that Matilda, erewhile the pattern of every spotless +excellence, could have been a party in the black design? + +But it is no longer time for the mildness of censure and the sobriety of +reproach. I would utter myself in the fierce and unqualified language of +invective. You have sinned beyond redemption. I would speak daggers. +I would wring blood from your heart at every word. But no; I will not +waste myself in angry words. I will not indulge to the bitterness of +opprobrium. Nothing but the anguish of my soul should have wrung from +me these solitary lines. Nothing but the fear of not surviving to my +revenge, should have prevented me from forestalling them in person.--I +will meet thee at Cerenzo. + + + +Letter XVI + +_The Marquis of San Severino to the Marchioness of Pescara_ + +_Cerenzo_ + +Madam, + +I am truly sorry that it falls to my lot to communicate to you the +distressing tidings with which it is perfectly necessary you should be +acquainted. The marquis, your husband, and my most dear friend, has +this morning fallen in a duel at this place. I am afraid it will be no +alleviation of the unfortunate intelligence, if I add, that the hand by +which he fell, was that of the count de St. Julian. + +His lordship left Cosenza, I understand, with the declared intention of +honouring me with a visit at Naples. He accordingly arrived at my palace +in the evening of the second day after he left you. He there laid before +me a letter he had received from the count, from which it appeared that +the misunderstanding was owing to a rivalship of no recent date in the +affections of your ladyship. It is not my business to enter into the +merits of the dispute. You, madam, are doubtless too well acquainted +with the laws of modern honour, pernicious in many instances, and which +have proved so fatal to the valuable life of the marquis, not to know +that the intended rencounter, circumstanced as it was, could not +possibly have been prevented. + +As we were informed that the count de St. Julian was detained by +sickness at Livorno, we continued two days longer at Naples before we +set out for our place of destination at Cerenzo. We arrived there on the +evening of the twenty-third, and the count de St. Julian the next day +at noon. We were soon after waited upon in form by signor Hippolito +Borelli, who had been a fellow student with each of these young noblemen +at the university of Palermo. He requested an interview with me, and +informing me that he attended the count in quality of second, we began +to adjust those minutiae, which are usually referred to the decision of +those who exercise that character. + +The count and the marquis had fixed their quarters at the two principal +hotels of this place. Of consequence there was no sort of intercourse +between them during the remainder of the day. In the evening we were +attended by the baron of St. Angelo, who had heard by chance of our +arrival. We spent the remainder of the day in much gaiety, and I +never saw the marquis of Pescara exert himself more, or display more +collectedness and humour, than upon this occasion. After we separated, +however, he appeared melancholy and exhausted. He was fatigued with the +repeated journies he had performed, and after having walked up and down +the room, for some time, in profound thought, he retired pretty early to +his chamber. + +The next day at six in the morning we repaired according to appointment +to the ramparts. We found the count de St. Julian and his friend arrived +before us. As we approached, the marquis made a slight congee to the +count, which was not returned by the other. "My lord," cried the +marquis,--"Stop," replied his antagonist, in a severe and impatient +tone. "This is no time for discussions. It was not that purpose that +brought me hither." My lord of Pescara appeared somewhat hurt at so +peremptory and unceremonious a rejoinder, but presently recovered +himself. Each party then took his ground, and they fired their pistols +without any other effect, than the shoulder of the count being somewhat +grazed by one of the balls. + +Signor Borelli and myself now interposed, and endeavoured to compromise +the affair. Our attempt however presently appeared perfectly fruitless. +Both parties were determined to proceed to further action. The marquis, +who at first had been perfectly calm, was now too impatient and eager to +admit of a moment's delay. The count, who had then appeared agitated and +disturbed, now assumed a collected air, a ferociousness and intrepidity, +which, though it seemed to wait an opportunity of displaying itself, was +deaf as the winds, and immoveable as the roots of Vesuvius. + +They now drew their swords. The passes of both were for some time +rendered ineffectual. But at length the marquis, from the ardour of his +temper seemed to lay aside his guard, and the count de St. Julian, by +a sudden thrust, run his antagonist through the body. The marquis +immediately fell, and having uttered one groan, he expired. The sword +entered at the left breast, and proceeded immediately to the heart. + +The count, instead of appearing at all disturbed at this event, or +attempting to embrace the opportunity of flight, advanced immediately +towards the body, and bending over it, seemed to survey its traits with +the profoundest attention. The surgeon who had attended, came up at +this instant, but presently perceived that his art was become totally +useless. During however this short examination, the count de St. Julian +recovered from his reverie, and addressing himself to me, "My lord," +said he, "I shall not attempt to fly from the laws of my country. I am +indeed the challenger, but I have done nothing, but upon the matures! +deliberation, and I shall at all times be ready to answer my conduct." +Though I considered this mode of proceeding as extremely singular I did +not however think it became me, as the friend of the marquis of Pescara, +to oppose his resolution. He has accordingly entered into a recognizance +before the gonfaloniere, to appear at a proper time to take his trial at +the city of Naples. + +Madam, I thought it my duty to be thus minute in relating the +particulars of this unfortunate affair. I shall not descend to any +animadversions upon the conduct and language of the count de St. Julian. +They will come to be examined and decided upon in a proper place. In the +mean time permit me to offer my sincerest condolences upon the loss you +have sustained in the death of my amiable friend. If it be in my power +to be of service to your ladyship, with respect to the funeral, or any +other incidental affairs, you may believe that I shall account it my +greatest honour to alleviate in any degree the misfortune you have +suffered. With the sincerest wishes for the welfare of yourself and your +amiable son, I have the honour to be, + +Madam, + +Your most obedient and very faithful servant, + +The marquis of San Severino. + + + +Letter XVII + +_The Answer_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +My lord, + +You were not mistaken when you supposed that the subject of your +letter would both afflict and surprize me in the extremest degree. The +unfortunate event to which it principally relates, is such as cannot but +affect me nearly. And separate from this, there is a veil of mystery +that hangs over the horrid tale, behind which I dare not pry, but with +the most trembling anxiety, but which will probably in a very short time +be totally removed. + +Your lordship, I am afraid, is but too well acquainted with the history +of the correspondence between myself and my deceased lord. I was given +to understand that the count de St. Julian was married to the daughter +of the duke of Aranda. I thought I had but too decisive evidence of the +veracity of the story. And you, my lord, I remember, were one of the +witnesses by which it was confirmed. Yet how is this to be reconciled +with the present catastrophe? Can I suppose that the count, after being +settled in Spain, should have deserted these connexions, in order +to come over again to that country in which he had forfeited all +pretensions to character and reputation, and to commence a quarrel so +unjust and absurd, with the man to whom he was bound by so numerous +obligations? + +My lord, I have revolved all the circumstances that are communicated +to me in your alarming letter. The oftener I peruse it, and the more +maturely I consider them, the more does it appear that the count de St. +Julian has all the manners of conscious innocence and injured truth. It +is impossible for an impostor to have acted throughout with an air so +intrepid and superior. Your lordship's account, so far as it relates to +the marquis, is probably the account of a friend, but it is impossible +not to perceive, that his behaviour derives no advantage from being +contrasted with that of his antagonist. + +You will readily believe, that it has cost me many efforts to assemble +all these thoughts, and to deliver these reasonings in so connected a +manner. At first my prejudices against the poor and unprotected stranger +were so deeply rooted, that I had no suspicion of their injustice. I +regarded the whole as a dream; I considered every circumstance as beyond +the cognizance of reason, and founded entirely in madness and frenzy. +I painted to myself the count de St. Julian, whom I had known for a +character so tender and sincere, as urged along with all the stings of +guilt, and agitated with all the furies of remorse. I at once pitied his +sufferings, and lamented their mortal and destructive consequences. I +regarded yourself and every person concerned in the melancholy affair, +as actuated by the same irrational spirit, and united to overwhelm one +poor, trembling, and defenceless woman. + +But the delusion was of no long continuance. I soon perceived that it +was impossible for a maniac to be suffered to proceed to so horrid +extremities. I perceived in every thing that related to the count, +a spirit very different from that of frenzy. It is thus that I have +plunged from uncertainty to uncertainty. From adopting a solution wild +and absurd, I am thrown back upon a darkness still more fearful, and am +lost in conjectures of the most tremendous nature. + +And where is it that I am obliged to refer my timid enquiries? Alas, I +have no friend upon whose bosom to support myself, I have no relation to +interest in my cause. I am forlorn, forsaken and desolate. By nature +not formed for defence, not braced to encounter the storms of calamity, +where shall I hide my unprotected head? Forgive me, my lord, if I am +mistaken; pardon the ravings of a distracted mind. It is possible I am +obliged to recur to him from whom all my misfortunes took their source, +who has guided unseen all those movements to which this poor and broken +heart is the sacrifice. Perhaps the words that now flow from my pen, +are directed to the disturber of my peace, the interceptor of all that +happiness most congenial to my heart, the murderer of my husband! + +Where, in the mean time, where is this countess, this dreaded rival? +You, my lord, have perhaps ere this time seen her. Tell me, what are +those ineffable charms that seduced a heart which was once so constant? +St. Julian was never mercenary, and I have a fortune that might have +filled out his most unbounded wishes. What is that strange fascination, +what that indescribable enchantment, that sunk a character so glorious, +that libertines venerated, and the friends of virtue adored, to a depth +so low and irretrievable? I have thought much of it, I have turned it +every way in my mind, but I can never understand it. The more I reflect +the further I am bewildered. + +But whither am I wandering? What strange passion is it, that I so +carefully suppressed, over which I so loudly triumphed, that now bursts +its limits? How fatal and deplorable is that train of circumstances, +that brings a name, that was once inscribed on my heart, to my +remembrance, accompanied with attendants, that awaken all my tenderness, +and breathe new life into each forgotten endearment! Is it for me, a +wife, a mother, to entertain these guilty thoughts? And can they respect +him by whose fatal hand my husband fell? How low is the once spotless +Matilda della Colonna sunk! + +But I will not give way to this dereliction and despair. I think my +heart is not made of impenetrable stuff. I think I cannot long survive +afflictions thus complicated, and trials thus severe. But so long as I +remain in this world of calamity, I will endeavour to act in a manner +not unworthy of myself. I will not disgrace the race from which I +sprung. Whatever others may do, I will not dishonour the family to which +I am united. I may be miserable, but I will not be guilty. I may be a +monument of anguish, but I will not be an example of degeneracy. + +Gracious heaven! if I have been deceived, what a train of artifice and +fraud rushes upon my terrified recollection? How carefully have all my +passions, in the unguarded hour of anguish and misery, been wrought and +played upon? All the feelings of a simple and undissembling mind have +been roused by turns, to excite me to a deed, from which rectitude +starts back with horror, which integrity blushes to look on! And have I +been this poor and abject tool in the hand of villains? And are there +hearts cool and obdurate enough, to watch all the trembling starts of +wretchedness, to seduce the heart that has given itself up to despair? +Can they look on with frigid insensibility, can they behold distress +with no other eye but that of interest, with no other watch but that +which discovers how it may be disgraced for ever? Oh, wretched Matilda! +whither, whither hast thou been plunged! + +My memory is up in arms. I cannot now imagine how I was induced to +so decisive and adventurous a step. But I was full of the anguish of +disappointment, and the resentment of despair. How assiduously was I +comforted? What sympathy, what angelic tenderness seemed to flow from +the lips of him, in whose heart perhaps there dwelt every dishonourable +and unsated passion? It was all a chaos. My heart was tumultuous hurry, +without leisure for retrospect, without a moment for deliberation. And +do I dare to excuse myself? Was I not guilty, unpardonably guilty? Oh, +a mind that knew St. Julian should have waited for ages, should have +revolved every circumstance a thousand times, should have disbelieved +even the evidence of sense, and the demonstration of eternal truth! +Accursed precipitation! Most wicked speed! No, I have not suffered half +what I have deserved. Heap horrors on me, thou dreadful dispenser of +avenging providence! I will not complain. I will expire in the midst of +agonies without a groan! + +But these thoughts must be banished from my heart for ever. Wretched as +I am, I am not permitted the consolation of penitence, I am not free to +accuse and torment myself. No, that step has been taken which can never +be repealed. The marquis of Pescara was my husband, and whatever were +his true character, I will not crush his memory and his fame. I have, +I fear, unadvisedly entered into connexions, and entailed upon myself +duties. But these connexions shall now be sacred; these duties shall be +discharged to the minutest tittle. Oh, poor and unprotected orphan, thou +art cast upon the world without a friend! But thou shalt never want the +assiduity of a mother. Thou, at least, are guileless and innocent. +Thou shalt be my only companion. To watch over thee shall be the sole +amusement that Matilda will henceforth indulge herself. That thou wilt +remind me of my errors, that I shall trace in thee gradually as thy +years advance, the features of him to whom my unfortunate life owed all +its colour, will but make thee a more proper companion, an object more +congenial to the sorrows of my soul. + + + +Letter XVIII + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marchioness of Pescara + +Cerenzo_ + +Madam, + +You may possibly before this letter comes to your hands have learned an +event that very nearly interests both you and me. If you have not, it is +not in my power at this time to collect together the circumstances, and +reduce them to the form of a narration. The design of my present letter +is of a very different kind. Shall I call that a design, which is the +consequence of an impulse urging me forward, without the consent of my +will, and without time for deliberation? + +I write this letter with a hand dyed with the blood of your husband. Let +not the idea startle you. Matilda is advanced too far to be frightened +with bugbears. What, shall a mind inured to fickleness and levity, +a mind that deserted, without reason and without remorse, the most +constant of lovers, and that recked not the consequences, shall such a +mind be terrified at the sight of the purple blood, or be moved from its +horrid tranquility by all the tragedies that an universe can furnish? + +Matilda, I have slain your husband, and I glory in the deed. I will +answer it in the face of day. I will defy that man to come forward, +and when he views the goary, lifeless corse, say to me with a tone of +firmness and conviction, "Thou hast done wrong." + +And now I have but one business more with life. It is to arraign the +fair and traiterous author of all my misfortunes. Start not at the black +catalogue. Flinch not from the detail of infernal mischief. The mind +that knows how to perpetrate an action, should know how to hear the +story of it repeated, and to answer it in all its circumstances. + +Matilda, I loved you. Alas, this is to say little! All my thoughts had +you for their centre. I was your slave. With you I could encounter +tenfold calamity, and call it happiness. Banished from you, the world +was a colourless and confused chaos. One moment of displeasure, one +interval of ambiguous silence crouded my imagination with every frantic +apprehension. One smile, one word of soft and soothing composition, fell +upon my soul like odoriferous balm, was a dulcet and harmonious sound, +that soothed my anguish into peace, that turned the tempest within me +to that still and lifeless calm, where not a breath disturbs the vast +serene. + +And this is the passion you have violated. You have trampled upon a +lover, who would have sacrificed his life to save that tender and +enchanting frame from the impression of a thorn. And yet, Matilda, if +it had been only a common levity, I would have pardoned it. If you had +given your hand to the first chance comer, I would have drenched the cup +of woe in solitude and darkness. Not one complaint from me should have +reached your ear. If you could have found tranquility and contentment, I +would not have been the avenging angel to blast your prospects. + +But there are provocations that the human heart cannot withstand. I did +not come from the hand of nature callous and intrepid, I was the stoic +of philosophy and reason. To lose my mistress and my friend at once. To +lose them!--Oh, ten thousand deaths would have been mercy to the loss! +Had they been tossed by tempests, had they been torn from my eyes by +whirlwinds, I would have viewed the scene with eye-balls of stiffened +horn. But to find all that upon which I had placed my confidence, upon +which I rested my weary heart, foul and false at once: to have those +bosoms, in which I fondly thought I reigned adored, combined in one +damned plot to overwhelm and ruin me--Indeed, Matilda, it was too much! + +Well, well. Be at peace my soul. I have taken my revenge. But revenge is +not a passion congenial to the spirit of St. Julian. It was once soft +and tender as a babe. You might have bended and moulded it into what +form you pleased. But I know not how it is, it is now remorseless and +unfeeling as a rock. I have swam in horror, and I am not satiated. +I could hear tales of distress, and I could laugh at their fancied +miseries. I could view all the tragedies of battle, and walk up and down +amidst seas of blood with tranquility. It is well. I did not think I +could have done all this. But inexplicable and almighty providence +strengthens, indurates the heart for the scenes of detestation to which +it is destined. + +And is it Rinaldo that I have slain? That friend that I held a thousand +times to my bosom, that friend over whose interests I have watched +without weariness? Many a time have I dropped the tear of oblivion over +his youthful wanderings. I exulted in the fruits of all my toil. Yes, +Matilda, I have seen the drops of sacred pity bedew his cheek. I have +seen his bosom heave with generous resentment, and heroic resolution. +Oh, there was a time, when the author of nature might have looked down +upon his work, and said, "This is a man." What benefits did not I +receive from his munificent character, and wide extended hand? + +And who made me his judge and his avenger? What right had I to thrust my +sword into his heart? He now lies a lifeless corse. Upon his breast +I see the gaping and death-giving wound. The blood bursts forth in +continued streams. His hair is clotted with it. That cheek, that lately +glowed, is now pale and sallow. All his features are deformed. The fire +in his eye is extinguished for ever. Who has done this? What wanton and +sacrilegious hand has dared deface the work of God? It could not be his +preceptor, the man upon whom he heaped a thousand benefits? It could not +be his friend? Oh, Rinaldo, all thy errors lie buried in the damp and +chilly tomb, but thy blood shall for ever rise to accuse me! + + + +Letter XIX + +_The Marquis of San Severino to the Marchioness of Pescara + +Naples_ + +Madam, + +I have just received a letter from your ladyship which gives me the +utmost pain. I am sincerely afflicted at the unfortunate concern I have +had in the melancholy affairs that have caused you so much uneasiness. I +expected indeed that the sudden death of so accomplished and illustrious +a character as your late husband, must have produced in a breast +susceptible as yours, the extremest distress. But I did not imagine that +you would have been so overwhelmed with the event, as to have forgotten +the decorums of your station, and to have derogated from the dignity of +your character. Madam, I sincerely sympathize in the violence of +your affliction, and I earnestly wish that you may soon recover that +self-command, which rendered your behaviour upon all occasions a model +of elegance, propriety and honour. + +Your ladyship proposes certain questions to me in your epistle of a very +singular nature. You will please to remember, that they will for the +most part be brought in a few days before a court of judicature. I must +therefore with all humility intreat you to excuse me from giving them a +direct answer. There would be an impropriety in a person, so illustrious +in rank, and whose voice is of considerable weight in the state, +forestalling the inferior courts upon these subjects. One thing however +I am at liberty to mention, and your ladyship may be assured, that in +any thing in my power I should place my highest felicity in gratifying +you. There was indeed some misinformation upon the subject; but I have +now the honour to inform you from authority upon which I depend, that +the count de St. Julian is now, and has always remained single. I +believe there never was any negociation of marriage between him and the +noble house of Aranda. + +Madam, it gives me much uneasiness, that your ladyship should entertain +the smallest suspicion of any impropriety in my behaviour in these +affairs. I believe the conduct of no man has been more strictly +conformed, in all instances, to the laws of decorum than my own. Objects +of no small magnitude, have upon various occasions passed under my +inspection, and you will be so obliging as to believe that upon no +occasion has my veracity been questioned, or the integrity of my +character suffered the smallest imputation. The rectitude of my actions +is immaculate, and my honour has been repeatedly asserted with my sword. + +Your ladyship will do me the favour to believe, that though I cannot +but regard your suspicions as equally cruel and unjust, I shall never +entertain the smallest resentment upon their account. I have the honour +to be, with all possible deference and esteem, + +Madam, + +Your ladyship's most faithful servant, + +The marquis of San Severino. + + + +Letter XX + +_The Count de St. Julian to Signor Hippolito Borelli + +Leontini_ + +My dear friend, + +Travelling through the various countries of Europe, and expanding your +philosophical mind to embrace the interests of mankind, you still are +so obliging as to take the same concern in the transactions of your +youthful friend as ever. I shall therefore confine myself in the letter +which I now steal the leisure to write, to the relation of those events, +of which you are probably as yet uninformed. If I were to give scope to +the feelings of my heart, with what, alas, should I present you but a +circle of repetitions, which, however important they may appear to +me, could not but be dull and tedious to any person less immediately +interested? + +As I pursued with greater minuteness the enquiries I had begun before +you quitted the kingdom of the two Sicilies, I found the arguments still +increasing upon me, which tended to persuade me of the innocence of +Matilda. Oh, my friend, what a letter did I address to her in the height +of my frenzy and despair? Every word spoke daggers, and that in a moment +when the tragical event of which I was the author, must naturally have +overwhelmed her with astonishment and agony. Yes, Hippolito, this action +must remain an eternal blot upon my character. Years of penitence could +not efface it, floods of tears could not wash it away. + +But before I had satisfied my curiosity in this pursuit, the time +approached in which it was necessary for me to take a public trial at +Naples. This scene was to me a solemn one. The blood of my friend sat +heavy at my heart. It is true no provocation could have been more +complicated than that I had received. Take it from me, Hippolito, as my +most mature and serious determination, that a Gothic revenge is beneath +the dignity of a man. It did not become me, who had aimed at the +character of unaccommodating virtue, to appear in defence of an action +that my heart disallowed. To stand forward before the delegated power of +my country with the stain of blood upon me, was not a scene for a man of +sensibility to act in. But the decision of my judges was more indulgent +than the verdict of my own mind. + +One of the persons who was most conspicuous upon this occasion, was the +marquis of San Severino. Hippolito, it is true, I have been hurried into +many actions that have caused me the severest regret. But I would not +for ten thousand worlds have that load of guilt upon my mind, that this +man has to answer for. And yet he bore his head aloft. He was placid and +serene. He was even disengaged and gay. He talked in as round a tone, +of honour and integrity, of veracity and virtue, as if his life were +spotless, and his heart immaculate. The circumstances however that +came out in the progress of the affair, were in the highest degree +disadvantageous to him. The general indignation and hatred seemed +gradually to swell against him, like the expansive surges of the ocean. +A murmur of disapprobation was heard from every side, proceeded from +every mouth. Even this accomplished villain at length hung his head. +When the court was dissolved, he was encountered with hisses and scorn +from the very lowest of the people. It was only by the most decisive +exertions of the guards of the palace, that he was saved from being torn +to pieces by the fury of the populace. + +You will be surprized to perceive that this letter is dated at the +residence of my fathers. Fourteen days ago I was summoned hither by the +particular request of my brother, who had been seized with a violent +epidemical distemper. It was extremely sudden in its operation, and +before I arrived he was no more. He had confessed however to one of the +friends of our house, before he expired, that he had forged the will of +my father, instigated by the surprize and disappointment he had felt, +when he understood that that father, whom he had employed so many +unjustifiable means to prepossess, had left his whole estate, exclusive +of a very small annuity, to his eldest son. Since I have been here, I +have been much employed in arranging the affairs of the family, which, +from the irregular and extemporary manner in which my brother lived, I +found in considerable disorder. + + + +Letter XXI + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marchioness of Pescara_ + + +_Leontini_ + +Madam, + +I have waited with patience for the expiration of twelve months, that +I might not knowingly be guilty of any indecorum, or intrude upon that +sorrow, which the tragical fate of the late marquis so justly claimed. +But how shall I introduce the subject upon which I am now to address +you? Where shall I begin this letter? Or with what arguments may I best +propitiate the anger I have so justly incensed, and obtain that boon +upon which the happiness of my future life is so entirely suspended? + +Among all the offences of which I have been guilty, against the simplest +and gentlest mind that ever adorned this mortal stage, there is none +which I less pardon to myself, than that unjust and precipitate letter, +which I was so inconsiderate as to address to you immediately after I +had steeped my hand in the murder of your husband. Was it for me, who +had so much reason to be convinced of the innocence and disinterested +truth of Matilda, to harbour suspicions so black, or rather to affront +her with charges, the most hideous and infamous? What crime is +there more inexcusable, than that of attributing to virtue all the +concomitants of vice, of casting all those bitter taunts, all that +aggravated and triumphant opprobrium in the face of rectitude, that +ought to be reserved only for the most profligate of villains? Yes, +Matilda, I trampled at once upon the exemptions of your sex, upon +the sanctity of virtue, upon the most inoffensive and undesigning of +characters. And yet all this were little. + +What a time was it that I chose for an injury so atrocious! A beautiful +and most amiable woman had just been deprived, by an unforeseen event, +of that husband, with whom but a little before she had entered into the +most sacred engagements. The state of a widow is always an afflictive +and unprotected one. Rank does not soften, frequently aggravates the +calamity. A tragedy had just been acted, that rendered the name of +Matilda the butt of common fame, the subject of universal discussion. +How painful and humiliating must this situation have been to that +anxious and trembling mind; a mind whose highest ambition coveted only +the tranquility that reigns in the shade of retreat, the silence and +obscurity that the wisest of philosophers have asserted to be the most +valuable reputation of her sex? Such was the affliction, in which I +might then have known that the mistress of my heart was involved. + +But I have since learned a circumstance before which all other +aggravations of my inhumanity fade away. The moment that I chose for +wanton insult and groundless arraignment, was the very moment in which +Matilda discovered all the horrid train of hypocrisy and falsehood by +which she had been betrayed. What a shock must it have given to her +gentle and benevolent mind, that had never been conscious to one +vicious temptation, that had never indulged the most distant thought of +malignity, to have found herself surprized into a conduct, to the nature +of which she had been a stranger, and which her heart disavowed? Of all +the objects of compassion that the universe can furnish, there is none +more truly affecting, than that of an artless and unsuspecting mind +insnared by involuntary guilt. The astonishment with which it is +overwhelmed, is vast and unqualified. The remorse with which it +is tortured, are totally unprepared and unexpected, and have been +introduced by no previous gradation. It is true, the involuntarily +culpable may in some sense be pronounced wholly innocent. The guilty +mind is full of prompt excuses, and ready evasions, but the untainted +spirit, not inured to the sophistry of vice, cannot accommodate itself +with these subterfuges. If such be the state of vulgar minds involved +in this unfortunate situation, what must have been that of so soft and +inoffensive a spirit? + +Oh, Matilda, if tears could expiate such a crime, ere this I had been +clear as the guileless infant. If incessant and bitter reproaches could +overweigh a guilt of the first magnitude, mine had been obliterated. But +no; the words I wrote were words of blood. Each of them was a barbed +arrow pointed at the heart. There was no management, there was no +qualification. And when we add to this the object against which all my +injuries were directed, what punishment can be discovered sufficiently +severe? The mind that invented it, must have been callous beyond all +common hardness. The hand that wrote it must be accursed for ever. + +And yet, Matilda, it is not merely pardon that I seek. Even that would +be balm to my troubled spirit. It would somewhat soften the harsh +outlines, and the aggravated features of a crime, which I shall never, +never forgive to my own heart. But no, think, most amiable of women, of +the height of felicity I once had full in view, and excuse my present +presumption. While indeed my mind was guiltless, and my hand unstained +with blood, while I had not yet insulted the woman to whose affections I +aspired, nor awakened the anger of the gentlest nature, of a heart made +up of goodness, and tenderness and sympathy, I might have aspired with +somewhat less of arrogance. Neither your heart nor mine, Matilda, were +ever very susceptible to the capricious distinctions of fortune. + +But, alas, how hard is it for a mind naturally ambitious to mould and to +level itself to a state of degradation. Believe me, I have put forth an +hundred efforts, I have endeavoured to blot your memory from a soul, in +which it yet does, and ever will reign unrivalled. No, it is to fight +with impassive air, it is to lash the foaming tempest into a calm. Time, +which effaces all other impressions, increases that which is indelibly +written upon my heart. A man whose countenance is pale and wan, and who +every day approaches with hasty and unremitted strides to the tomb, may +forget his situation, may call up a sickly smile upon his countenance, +and lull his mind to lethargy and insensibility. Such, Matilda, is all +the peace reserved for me, if yet I have no power in influencing the +determinations of your mind. Stupidity, thou must be my happiness! +Torpor, I will bestow upon thee all the endearing names, that common +mortals give to rapture! + +And yet, Matilda, if I retain any of that acute sensibility to virtue +and to truth, in which I once prided myself, there can be no conduct +more proper to the heir of the illustrious house of Colonna, than that +which my heart demands. You have been misguided into folly. What is more +natural to an ingenuous heart, than to cast back the following scandal +upon the foul and detested authors, with whom the wrong originated. You +have done that, which if all your passions had been hushed into silence, +and the whole merits of the cause had lain before you, you would never +have done. What reparation, Matilda, does a clear and generous spirit +dictate, but that of honestly and fearlessly acknowledging the mistake, +treading back with readiness and haste the fatal path, and embracing +that line of conduct which a deliberate judgment, and an informed +understanding would always have dictated? + +Is it not true,--tell me, thou mistress of my soul,--that upon your +determination in this one instance all your future reputation is +suspended? Accept the hand of him that adores you, and the truth will +shine forth in all its native splendour, and none but the blind can +mistake it. Refuse him, and vulgar souls will for ever confound you +with the unfortunate Rinaldo, and his detested seducer. Fame, beloved +charmer, is not an object that virtuous souls despise. To brave the +tongue of slander cannot be natural to the gentle and timid spirit of +Matilda. + +But, oh, I dare not depend upon the precision of logic, and the +frigidity of argumentation. Let me endeavour to awaken the compassion +and humanity of your temper. Recollect all the innocent and ecstatic +endearments with which erewhile our hours were winged. Never was +sublunary happiness so pure and unmingled. It was tempered with the +mildest and most unbounded sympathy, it was refined and elevated with +all the sublimity of virtue. These happy, thrice happy days, you, and +only you, can recall. Speak but the word, and time shall reverse his +course, and a new order of things shall commence. Think how much virtue +depends upon your fiat. Satisfied with felicity ourselves, our hearts +will overflow with benevolence for the world. Never will misery pass us +unrelieved, never shall we remit the delightful task of seeking out the +modest and the oppressed in their obscure retreat. We will set mankind +an example of integrity and goodness. We will retrieve the original +honours of the wedded state. Methinks, I could rouze the most lethargic +and unanimated with my warning voice! Methinks, I could breathe a spirit +into the dead! Oh, Matilda, let me inspire ambition into your breast! +Let me teach that tender and right gentle heart, to glow with a mutual +enthusiasm! + + + + +Letter XXII + + +_The Answer_ + +_Cosenza_ + +My lord, It is now three weeks since I received that letter, in which +you renew the generous offer of your hand. Believe me, I am truly +sensible of the obligation, and it shall for ever live in my grateful +heart. I am not now the same Matilda you originally addressed. I have +acted towards you in an inexcusable manner. I have forfeited that +spotless character which was once my own. All this you knew, and all +this did not deter you. My lord, for this generosity and oblivion, once +again, and from the bottom of my heart, I thank you. + +But it is not only in these respects, that the marchioness of Pescara +differs from the daughter of the duke of Benevento. Those poor charms, +my lord, which were once ascribed to me, have long been no more. The +hand of grief is much more speedy and operative in its progress than the +icy hand of age. Its wrinkles are already visible in my brow. The floods +of tears I have shed have already furrowed my cheeks. But oh, my lord, +it is not grief; that is not the appellation it claims. They are the +pangs of remorse, they are the cries of never dying reproach with +which I am agitated. Think how this tarnishes the heart and blunts the +imagination. Think how this subdues all the aspirations of innocence, +and unnerves all the exertions of virtue. Perhaps I was, flattery and +friendship had at least taught me to think myself, something above the +common level. But indeed, my lord, I am now a gross and a vulgar soul. +All the nicer touches are fretted and worn away. All those little +distinctions, those minuter delicacies I might once possess are +obliterated. My heart is coarse and callous. Others, of the same +standard that I am now, may have the same confidence in themselves, the +same unconsciousness of a superior, as nature's most favoured children. +But I am continually humbled by the sense of what I was. + +These things, my lord, I mention as considerations that have some +weight with me, and ought perfectly to reconcile you to my unalterable +determination. But these, I will ingenuously confess, are not the +considerations that absolutely decide me. You cannot but sufficiently +recollect the title I bear, and the situation in which I am placed. The +duties of the marchioness of Pescara are very different from those by +which I was formerly bound. Does it become a woman of rank and condition +to fling dishonour upon the memory of him to whom she gave her hand, or, +as you have expressed it, to cast back the scandal to which she may be +exposed upon the author with whom it originated? No, my lord: I must +remember the family into which I have entered, and I will never give +them cause to curse the day upon which Matilda della Colonna was +numbered among them. What, a wife, a widow, to proclaim with her own +mouth her husband for a villain? You cannot think it. It were almost +enough to call forth the mouldering ashes from the cincture of the tomb. + +My lord, it would not become me to cast upon a name so virtuous and +venerable as yours, the whisper of a blame. I will not pretend to argue +with you the impropriety and offence of a Gothic revenge. But it is +necessary upon a subject so important as that which now employs my pen, +to be honest and explicit. It is not a time for compliment, it is not +a moment for disguise and fluctuation. Whatever were the merits of the +contest, I cannot forget that your hand is deformed with the blood of my +husband. My lord, you have my sincerest good wishes. I bear you none +of that ill will and covert revenge, that are equally the disgrace of +reason and Christianity. But you have placed an unsuperable barrier +between us. You have sunk a gulph, fathomless and immeasurable. For us +to meet, would not be more contrary to the factitious dignity of rank, +than shocking to the simple and unadulterated feelings of our nature. +The world, the general voice would cry shame upon it. Propriety, +decency, unchanged and eternal truth forbid it. + +Yet once more. I have a son. He is all the consolation and comfort that +is left me. To watch over his infancy is my most delightful, and most +virtuous task. I have filled the character, neither of a mistress, nor a +wife, in the manner my ambition aimed at. I have yet one part left, and +that perhaps the most venerable of all, the part of a mother. Excellent, +and exalted name! thee I will never disgrace! Not for one moment will I +forget thee, not in one iota shalt thou be betrayed! + +My lord, I write this letter in my favourite haunt, where indeed I pass +hour after hour in the only pleasure that is left me, the nursery of my +child. At this moment I cast my eyes upon him, and he answers me with +the most artless and unapprehensive smile in the world. No, beloved +infant! I will never injure thee! I will never be the author of thy +future anguish! He seems, St. Julian, to solicit, that I would love him +always, and behold him with an unaltered tenderness. Yes, my child, I +will be always thy mother. From that character I will never derogate. +That name shall never be lost in another, however splendid, or however +attractive. Were I to hear you, my lord, they would tear him from my +arms, and I should commend their justice. I should see him no more. +These eyes would no longer be refreshed with that artless and adorable +visage. I should no longer please myself with pouring the accents of +my sorrow into his unconscious ear. Obdurate, unfeeling, relentless, +unnatural mother! These would be the epithets by which I should best be +known. These would be the sentiments of every heart. This would be the +unbought voice, even of those vulgar souls, in which penury had most +narrowed the conceptions, and repressed the enthusiasm of virtue. It is +true, my lord, Matilda is sunk very low. The finger of scorn has pointed +at her, and the whisper of unfeeling curiosity respecting her, has run +from man to man. But yet it shall have its limits. My resolution is +unalterable. To this I will never come. + +My lord, among those arguments which you so well know how to urge, you +have told me, that the cause you plead, is the cause of benevolence +and charity. You say, that felicity would open our hearts, and teach our +bosoms to overflow. But surely this is not the general progress of the +human character. I had been taught to believe, and I hope I have found +it true, that misfortune softens the disposition, and bids compassion +take a deeper root. It shall be ever my aim, to make this improvement of +those wasting sorrows, with which heaven has seen fit to visit me. For +you, I am not to learn what is your generous and god like disposition. +My lord, I will confess a circumstance, for which I know not whether +I ought to blush. Animated by that sympathetic concern, which I once +innocently took in all that related to you, I have made the most minute +enquiries respecting your retreat at Leontini. I shall never be afraid, +that the man, whose name dwells in the sweetest accents upon the lips of +the distressed, and is the consolation and the solace of the helpless +and the orphan, will degenerate into hardness. Go on, my lord! You are +in the path of virtue. You are in the line that heaven chalked out for +you. You will be the ornament of humanity, and your country's boast to +the latest posterity. + +FINIS + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Italian Letters, Vols. I and II, by William Godwin + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ITALIAN LETTERS, VOLS. 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I AND II *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David Widger and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +ITALIAN LETTERS + +Or + +The History of the Count de St. Julian + +By + +WILLIAM GODWIN + +Edited and with an Introduction by BURTON R. POLLIN [Blank Page] +_Italian Letters_ + +_Volume I_ + + + + +Letter I + + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Palermo_ + +My dear lord, + +It is not in conformity to those modes which fashion prescribes, that I +am desirous to express to you my most sincere condolence upon the death +of your worthy father. I know too well the temper of my Rinaldo to +imagine, that his accession to a splendid fortune and a venerable title +can fill his heart with levity, or make him forget the obligations he +owed to so generous and indulgent a parent. It is not the form of sorrow +that clouds his countenance. I see the honest tear of unaffected grief +starting from his eye. It is not the voice of flattery, that can render +him callous to the most virtuous and respectable feelings that can +inform the human breast. + +I remember, my lord, with the most unmingled pleasure, how fondly +you used to dwell upon those instances of paternal kindness that you +experienced almost before you knew yourself. I have heard you describe +with how benevolent an anxiety the instructions of a father were always +communicated, and with what rapture he dwelt upon the early discoveries +of that elevated and generous character, by which my friend is so +eminently distinguished. Never did the noble marquis refuse a single +request of this son, or frustrate one of the wishes of his heart. His +last prayers were offered for your prosperity, and the only thing that +made him regret the stroke of death, was the anguish he felt at parting +with a beloved child, upon whom all his hopes were built, and in whom +all his wishes centred. + +Forgive me, my friend, that I employ the liberty of that intimacy with +which you have honoured me, in reminding you of circumstances, which I +am not less sure that you revolve with a melancholy pleasure, than I am +desirous that they should live for ever in your remembrance. That +sweet susceptibility of soul which is cultivated by these affectionate +recollections, is the very soil in which virtue delights to spring. +Forgive me, if I sometimes assume the character of a Mentor. I would not +be so grave, if the love I bear you could dispense with less. + +The breast of my Rinaldo swells with a thousand virtuous sentiments. I +am conscious of this, and I will not disgrace the confidence I ought to +place in you. But your friend cannot but be also sensible, that you are +full of the ardour of youth, that you are generous and unsuspecting, and +that the happy gaiety of your disposition sometimes engages you with +associates, that would abuse your confidence and betray your honour. + +Remember, my dear lord, that you have the reputation of a long list of +ancestors to sustain. Your house has been the support of the throne, +and the boast of Italy. You are not placed in an obscure station, +where little would be expected from you, and little would be the +disappointment, though you should act in an imprudent or a vicious +manner. The antiquity of your house fixes the eyes of your countrymen +upon you. Your accession at so early a period to its honours and its +emoluments, renders your situation particularly critical. + +But if your situation be critical, you have also many advantages, to +balance the temptations you may be called to encounter. Heaven has +blessed you with an understanding solid, judicious, and penetrating. You +cannot long be made the dupe of artifice, you are not to be misled by +the sophistry of vice. But you have received from the hands of the +munificent creator a much more valuable gift than even this, a manly and +a generous mind. I have been witness to many such benevolent acts of my +Rinaldo as have made my fond heart overflow with rapture. I have traced +his goodness to its hiding place. I have discovered instances of his +tenderness and charity, that were intended to be invisible to every +human eye. + +I am fully satisfied that the marquis of Pescara can never rank among +the votaries of vice and folly. It is not against the greater instances +of criminality that I wish to guard you. I am not apprehensive of a +sudden and a total degeneracy. But remember, my lord, you will, from +your situation, be inevitably surrounded with flatterers. You are +naturally fond of commendation. Do not let this generous instinct be the +means of disgracing you. You will have many servile parasites, who will +endeavour, by inuring you to scenes of luxury and dissipation, to divert +your charity from its noblest and its truest ends, into the means of +supporting them in their fawning dependence. Naples is not destitute of +a set of young noblemen, the disgrace of the titles they wear, who would +be too happy to seduce the representative of the marquisses of Pescara +into an imitation of their vices, and to screen their follies under so +brilliant and conspicuous an example. + +My lord, there is no misfortune that I more sincerely regret than the +loss of your society. I know not how it is, and I would willingly +attribute it to the improper fastidiousness of my disposition, that +I can find few characters in the university of Palermo, capable of +interesting my heart. With my Rinaldo I was early, and have been long +united; and I trust, that no force, but that of death, will be able to +dissolve the ties that bind us. Wherever you are, the heart of your St. +Julian is with you. Wherever you go, his best wishes accompany you. If +in this letter, I have assumed an unbecoming austerity, your lordship +will believe that it is the genuine effusion of anxiety and friendship, +and will pardon me. It is not that I am more exempt from youthful folly +than others. Born with a heart too susceptible for my peace, I am +continually guilty of irregularities, that I immediately wish, but am +unable to retract. But friendship, in however frail a bosom she resides, +cannot permit her own follies to dispense her from guarding those she +loves against committing their characters. + + + +Letter II + +_The Answer_ + +_Naples_ + +It is not necessary for me to assure my St. Julian, that I really felt +those sentiments of filial sorrow which he ascribes to me. Never did any +son sustain the loss of so indulgent a father. I have nothing by which +to remember him, but acts of goodness and favour; not one hour of +peevishness, not one instance of severity. Over all my youthful follies +he cast the veil of kindness. All my imaginary wants received a prompt +supply. Every promise of spirit and sensibility I was supposed to +discover, was cherished with an anxious and unremitting care. + +But such as he was to me, he was, in a less degree, to all his +domestics, and all his dependents. You can scarcely imagine what a +moving picture my palace--and must I call it mine? presented, upon my +first arrival. The old steward, and the grey-headed lacqueys endeavoured +to assume a look of complacency, but their recent grief appeared through +their unpractised hypocrisy. "Health to our young master! Long life," +cried they, with a broken and tremulous accent, "to the marquis of +Pescara!" You will readily believe, that I made haste to free them from +their restraint, and to assure them that the more they lamented my ever +honoured father, the more they would endear themselves to me. Their +looks thanked me, they clasped their hands with delight, and were +silent. + +The next morning as soon as I appeared, I perceived, as I passed along, +a whole crowd of people plainly, but decently habited, in the hall. +"Who are they?" said I. "I endeavoured to keep them off," said the old +steward, "but they would not be hindered. They said they were sure that +the young marquis would not bely the bounty of their old master, upon +which they had so long depended for the conveniences and comfort of +life." "And they shall not be kept off," said I; and advancing towards +them, I endeavoured to convince them, that, however unworthy of his +succession, I would endeavour to keep alive the spirit of their +benefactor, and would leave them as little reason as possible to regret +his loss. Oh! my St. Julian, who but must mourn so excellent a parent, +so amiable, so incomparable a man! + +But you talked to me of the flattering change in my situation. And shall +I confess to you the truth? I find nothing in it that flatters, nothing +that pleases me. I am told my revenues are more extensive. But what is +that to me? They were before sufficiently ample, and I had but to wish +at any time, in order to have them increased. But I am removed to the +metropolis of the kingdom, to the city in which the court of my master +resides, to the seat of elegance and pleasure. And yet, amidst all that +it offers, I sigh for the rural haunts of Palermo, its pleasant hills, +its fruitful vales, its simplicity and innocence. I sit down to a more +sumptuous table, I am surrounded with a more numerous train of servants +and dependents. But this comes not home to the heart of your Rinaldo. +I look in vain through all the circle for an equal and a friend. It is +true, when I repair to the levee of my prince, I behold many equals; but +they are strangers to me, their faces are dressed in studied smiles, +they appear all suppleness, complaisance and courtliness. A countenance, +fraught with art, and that carries nothing of the soul in it, is +uninteresting, and even forbidding in my eye. + +Oh! how long shall I be separated from my St. Julian? I am almost angry +with you for apologizing for your kind monitions and generous advice. If +my breast glows with any noble sentiments, it is to your friendship I +ascribe them. If I have avoided any of the rocks upon which heedless +youth is apt to split, yours is all the honour, though mine be the +advantage. More than one instance do I recollect with unfeigned +gratitude, in which I had passed the threshold of error, in which I had +already set my foot upon the edge of the precipice, and was reclaimed by +your care. But what temptations could the simple Palermo offer, compared +with the rich, the luxurious, and dissipated court of Naples? + +And upon this scene I am cast without a friend. My honoured father +indeed could not have been my companion, but his advice might have been +useful to me in a thousand instances. My St. Julian is at a distance +that my heart yearns to think of. Volcanos burn, and cataracts roar +between us. With caution then will I endeavour to tread the giddy +circle. Since I must, however unprepared, be my own master, I will +endeavour to be collected, sober, and determined. + +One expedient I have thought of, which I hope will be of service to me +in the new scene upon which I am to enter. I will think how my friend +would have acted, I will think that his eye is upon me, and I will make +it a law to myself to confess all my faults and follies to you. As you +have indulged me with your correspondence, you will allow me, I doubt +not, in this liberty, and will favour me from time to time with those +honest and unbiassed remarks upon my conduct, which it is consonant with +your character to make. + + + + +Letter III + +_The Same to the Same_ + +_Naples_ + +Since I wrote last to my dear count, I have been somewhat more in +public, and have engaged a little in the societies of this city. You can +scarcely imagine, my friend, how different the young gentlemen of Naples +are from my former associates in the university. You would hardly +suppose them of the same species. In Palermo, almost every man was cold, +uncivil and inattentive; and seemed to have no other purpose in view +than his own pleasure and accommodation. At Naples they are all good +nature and friendship. Your wishes, before you have time to express +them, are forestalled by the politeness of your companions, and each +seems to prefer the convenience and happiness of another to his own. + +With one young nobleman I am particularly pleased, and have chosen him +from the rest as my most intimate associate. It is the marquis of San +Severino. I shall endeavour by his friendship, as well as I can, to +make up to myself the loss of my St. Julian, of whose society I am +irremediably deprived. He does not indeed possess your abilities, he +has not the same masculine understanding, and the same delightful +imagination. But he supplies the place of these by an uninterrupted flow +of good humour. All his passions seem to be disinterested, and it would +do violence to every sentiment of his heart to be the author of a +moment's pain to another. + +Do not however imagine, my dear count, that my partiality to this +amiable young nobleman renders me insensible to the defects of his +character. Though his temper be all sweetness and gentleness, his views +are not the most extensive. He considers much more the present ease of +those about him, than their future happiness. He has not harshness, he +has not firmness enough in his character, shall I call it? to refuse +almost any request, however injudicious. He is therefore often led into +improper situations, and his reputation frequently suffers in a manner +that I am persuaded his heart does not deserve. + +The person of San Severino is tall, elegant and graceful. His manners +are singularly polite, and uniformly unembarassed. His voice is +melodious, and he is eminently endowed by nature with the gift of +eloquence. A person of your penetration will therefore readily imagine, +that his society is courted by the fair. His propensity to the tender +passion appears to have been very great, and he of consequence lays +himself out in a gallantry that I can by no means approve. + +Such, my dear count, appears to me to be the genuine and impartial +character of my new friend. His good nature, his benevolence, and the +pliableness of his disposition may surely be allowed to compensate for +many defects. He can indeed by no means supply the place of my St. +Julian. I cannot look up to him as a guide, and I believe I shall never +be weak enough to ask his advice in the conduct of my life. + +But do not imagine, my dear lord, that I shall be in much danger of +being misled by him into criminal irregularities. I feel a firmness of +resolution, and an ardour in the cause of virtue, that will, I trust, +be abundantly sufficient to set these poor temptations at defiance. +The world, before I entered it, appeared to me more formidable than it +really is. I had filled it with the bugbears of a wild imagination. +I had supposed that mankind made it their business to prey upon each +other. Pardon me, my amiable friend, if I take the liberty to say, that +my St. Julian was more suspicious than he needed to have been, when he +supposed that Naples could deprive me of the simplicity and innocence +that grew up in my breast under his fostering hand at Palermo. + + + + +Letter IV + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Palermo_ + +I rejoice with you sincerely upon the pleasures you begin to find in the +city of Naples. May all the days of my Rinaldo be happy, and all his +paths be strewed with flowers! It would have been truly to be lamented, +that melancholy should have preyed upon a person so young and so +distinguished by fortune, or that you should have sighed amidst all the +magnificence of Naples for the uncultivated plainness of Palermo. So +long as I reside here, your absence will constantly make me feel an +uneasy void, but it is my earnest wish that not a particle of that +uneasiness may reach my friend. + +Surely, my dear marquis, there are few correspondents so young as +myself, and who address a personage so distinguished as you, that deal +with so much honest simplicity, and devote so large a share of their +communications to the forbidding seriousness of advice. But you have +accepted the first effort of my friendship with generosity and candour, +and you will, I doubt not, continue to behold my sincerity with a +favourable eye. + +Shall I venture to say that I am sorry you have commenced so intimate a +connexion with the marquis of San Severino? Even the character of him +with which you have favoured me, represents him to my wary sight as too +agreeable not to be dangerous. But I have heard of him from others, a +much more unpleasing account. + +Alas, my friend, under how fair an outside are the most pernicious +principles often concealed! Your honest heart would not suspect, that an +appearance of politeness frequently covers the most rooted selfishness. +The man who is all gentleness and compliance abroad, is often a tyrant +among his domestics. The attendants upon a court put on their faces +as they put on their clothes. And it is only after a very long +acquaintance, after having observed them in their most unguarded hours, +that you can make the smallest discovery of their real characters. +Remember, my dear Rinaldo, the maxim of the incomparable philosopher of +Geneva: "Man is not naturally amiable." If the human character shews +less pleasing and attractive in the obscurity of retreat, and among the +unfinished personages of a college, believe me, the natives of a court +are not a whit more disinterested, or have more of the reality of +friendship. The true difference is, that the one wears a disguise, and +the other appear as they are. + +I do not mean however to impute all the faults I have mentioned to the +marquis of San Severino. He is probably in the vulgar sense of the word +good-natured. As you have already expressed it, he knows not how to +refuse the requests, or contradict the present inclinations of those +with whom he is connected. You say rightly that his gallantries are such +as you can by no means approve. He is, if I am not greatly misinformed, +in the utmost degree loose and debauched in his principles. The greater +part of his time is spent in the haunts of intemperance, and under the +roofs of the courtezan. I am afraid indeed he has gone farther than +this, and that he has not scrupled to ruin innocence, and practise all +the arts of seduction. + +There is, my dear Rinaldo, a species of careless and youthful vice, that +assumes the appearance of gentleness, and wears the garb of generosity. +It even pretends to the name of virtue. But it casts down all the sacred +barriers of religion. It laughs to scorn that suspicious vigilance, that +trembling sensibility, that is the very characteristic of virtue. It +represents those faults of which a man may be guilty without +malignity, as innocent. And it endeavours to appropriate to itself +all comprehensiveness of view, all true fortitude, and all liberal +generosity. + +Believe me, my friend, this is the enemy from which you have most to +fear. It is not barefaced degeneracy that can seduce you. She must +be introduced under a specious name, she must disguise herself like +something that nature taught us to approve, and she must steal away the +heart at unawares. + + + +Letter V + + +_The Answer_ + +_Naples_ + +I can never sufficiently acknowledge the friendship that appears in +every line of your obliging epistles. Even where your attachment is +rouzed without a sufficient cause, it is only upon that account the more +conspicuous. + +I took the liberty, my dear count, immediately after receiving your +last, to come to an explanation with San Severino. I mentioned to him +the circumstances in your letter, as affairs that had been casually +hinted to me. I told him, that I was persuaded he would excuse my +freedom, as I was certain there was some misinformation, and I could not +omit the opportunity of putting it in his power to justify himself. The +marquis expressed the utmost astonishment, and vowed by all that was +sacred, that he was innocent of the most important part of the charge. +He told me, that it was his ill fortune, and he supposed he was not +singular, to have enemies, that made it their business to misrepresent +every circumstance of his conduct. He had been calumniated, cruelly +calumniated, and could he discover the author of the aspersion, he would +vindicate his honour with his sword. In fine, he explained the whole +business in such a manner, as, though I could not entirely approve, yet +evinced it to be by no means subversive of the general amiableness of +his character. How deplorable is the situation in which we are placed, +when even the generous and candid temper of my St. Julian, can be +induced to think of a young nobleman in a light he does not deserve, and +to impute to him basenesses from which his heart is free! + +Soon after this interview I was introduced by my new friend into a +society of a more mixed and equivocal kind than I had yet seen. Do not +however impute to the marquis a surprize of which he was not guilty. He +fairly stated to me of what persons the company was to be composed; and +idle curiosity, and perhaps a particular gaiety of humour, under the +influence of which I then was, induced me to accept of his invitation. +If I did wrong, my dear count, blame me, and blame me without reserve. +But if I may judge from the disposition in which I left this house, I +only derived a new reinforcement to those resolutions, with which your +conversation and example first inspired me. + +It was in the evening, after the opera. The company was composed of +several of our young nobility, and an equal number of female performers +and other ladies of the same reputation. They almost immediately broke +into _tete-a-tetes_, and of consequence one of the ladies addressed +herself particularly to me. The vulgar familiarity of her manners, +and the undisguised libidinousness of her conversation, I must own, +disgusted me. Though I do not pretend to be devoid of the passions +incident to my age, I was not at all pleased with the addresses of this +female. As my companions were more active in the choice of an associate, +it may perhaps be only candid to own, that she was not the most pleasing +in the circle. The consciousness of the eyes of the whole party +embarrassed me. And the aukward attempts I made to detach myself from +my enamorata, as they proved unsuccessful, so they served to excite a +general smile. San Severino however presently perceived my situation, +and observing that I was by no means satisfied with my fortune, he with +the utmost politeness broke away from the company, and attended me home. + +How is it my dear friend that vice, whose property it should seem to +be, to hesitate and to tremble, should be able to assume this air of +confidence and composure? How is it that innocence, that surely should +always triumph, is thus liable to all the confusion and perplexity of +guilt? Why is virtue chosen, but because she is the parent of honour, +because she enables a man to look in the face the aspersions of calumny, +and to remain firm and undejected, amidst whatever fortune has of +adverse and capricious? And are these advantages merely imaginary? Are +composure and self-approbation common to the upright and the wicked? Or +do those who are most hardened, really possess the superiority; and can +conscious guilt bid defiance to shame, while rectitude is continually +liable to hide her head in confusion? + + + + +Letter VI + +_The Same to the Same_ + + +_Naples_ + +You will recollect, my St. Julian, that I promised to confess to you my +faults and my follies, and to take you for the umpire and director of +my conduct. Perhaps I have done wrong. Perhaps, though unconscious of +error, I am some how or other misled, and need your faithful hand to +lead me back again to the road of integrity. + +Why is it that I feel a reluctance to state to you the whole of my +conduct? It is a sensation to which I have hitherto been a stranger, and +in spite of me, it obliges me to mistrust myself. But I have discovered +the reason. It is, that educated in solitude, and immured in the walls +of a college, we had not learned to make allowances for the situations +and the passions of mankind. You and I, my dear count, have long agreed, +that the morality of priests is to be distrusted: that it is too often +founded upon sinister views and private interest: that it has none +of that comprehension of thought, that manly enthusiasm, which is +characteristic of the genuine moral philosopher. What have penances and +pilgrimages, what have beads and crosses, vows made in opposition to +every instinct of nature, and an obedience subversive of the original +independency of the human mind, to do with virtue? + +Thus far, my amiable friend, you advanced, but yet I am afraid you have +not advanced far enough. I am told there is an honesty and an honour, +that preserves a man's character free from impeachment, which is +perfectly separate from that sublime goodness that you and I have always +admired. But to this sentiment I am by no means reconciled. To speak +more immediately to the subject I intended. + +What can be more justifiable, or reasonable, than a conformity to the +original propensities of our nature? It is true, these propensities may +by an undue cultivation be so much increased, as to be productive of +the most extensive mischief. The man who, for the sake of indulging +his corporeal appetites, neglects every valuable pursuit, and every +important avocation, cannot be too warmly censured. But it is no less +true, that the passion of the sexes for each other, exists in the most +innocent and uncorrupted heart. Can it then be reasonable to condemn +such a moderate indulgence of this passion, as interrupts no employment, +and impedes no pursuit? This indulgence, in the present civilized +state of society, requires no infringement of order, no depravation of +character. The legislators of every country, whose wisdom may surely +be considered as somewhat greater than that of its priests, have +judiciously overlooked this imagined irregularity, and amongst all the +penalties which they have ambitiously, and too often without either +sentiment or humanity, heaped together against the offences of society, +have suffered this to pass unnoticed. Why should we be more harsh and +rigorous than they? It is inconsistent with all logic and all candour, +to argue against the use of any thing from its abuse. Of what mischief +can the moderate gratification of this appetite be the source? It does +not indeed romantically seek to reclaim a class of women, whom every +sober man acknowledges to be irreclaimable. But with that benevolence +that is congenial to a comprehensive mind, it pities them with all their +errors, and it contributes to preserve them from misery, distress, and +famine. + +From what I have now said, I believe you will have already suspected of +what nature are those particulars in my conduct, which I set out with +an intention of confessing. Whatever may be my merit or demerit in this +instance, I will not hide from you that the marquis of San Severino was +the original cause of what I have done. You are already sufficiently +acquainted with the freedom of his sentiments upon this subject. He is a +professed devotee of the sex, and he suffers this passion to engross a +much larger share of his time than I can by any means approve. Incited +by his exhortations, I have in some measure imitated his conduct, at the +same time that I have endeavoured not to fall into the same excesses. + +But I believe that I shall treat you more regularly in the manner of a +confessor, and render you more master of the subject, by relating to you +the steps by which I have been led to act and to justify, that which I +formerly used to condemn. I have already told you, how aukward I felt my +situation in the first society of the gayer kind, into which my friend +introduced me. Though he politely freed me from my present embarassment, +he could not help rallying me upon the rustic appearance I made. He +apologized for the ill fortune I had experienced, and promised to +introduce me to a mistress beautiful as the day, and sprightly and +ingenious as Sappho herself. + +What could I do? I was unwilling to break with the most amiable +companion I had found in the city of Naples. I was staggered with his +reasonings and his eloquence. Shall I acknowledge the truth? I was +mortified at the singular and uncouth figure I had made. I felt myself +actuated with a social sympathy, that made me wish to resemble those of +my own rank and age, in any thing that was not seriously criminal. I was +involuntarily incited by the warm description San Severino gave me of +the beauty and attractions of the lady he recommended. Must we not +confess, my St. Julian, setting the nature of the business quite out +of the question, that there was something highly disinterested in the +behaviour of the marquis upon this occasion? He left his companions and +his pleasures, to accommodate himself to my weakness. He managed his own +character so little, as to undertake to recommend to me a female friend. +And he seems to have neglected the interest of his own pleasures +entirely, in order to introduce me to a woman, inferior in +accomplishments to none of her sex. + + + + +Letter VII + + +_The Same to the Same_ + +_Naples_ + +Could I ever have imagined, my dear count, that in so short a time the +correspondence between us would have been so much neglected? I have +yet received no answer to my last letter, upon a subject particularly +interesting, and in which I had some reason to fear your disapprobation. +My St. Julian lives in the obscurity of retreat, and in the solitude +most favourable to literary pursuits. What avocations can have called +off his attention from the interests of his friend? May I be permitted +however to draw one conclusion from your silence, that you do not +consider my situation as critical and alarming? That although you join +the prudent severity of a monitor with the candid partiality of a +friend, you yet view my faults in a venial light, and are disposed to +draw over them the veil of indulgence? + +I might perhaps deduce a fairer apology for the silence on my part from +my new situation, the avocations incident to my rank and fortune, and +the pleasures that abound in a city and a court so celebrated as that +of Naples. But I will not attempt an apology. The novelty of these +circumstances have diverted my attention more than they ought from the +companion of my studies and the friend of my youth, but I trust I shall +never forget him. I have met with companions more gay, and consorts more +obsequious, but I have never found a character so worthy, and a friend +so sincere. + +Since I last addressed my St. Julian, I have been engaged in various +scenes both of a pleasurable and a serious kind. I think I am guilty of +no undue partiality to my own conduct when I assure you, that I have +embarked in the lighter pursuits of associates of my own age without +having at any time forgotten what was due to the lustre of my ancestry, +and the favour of my sovereign. I have not injured my reputation. I +have mingled business and pleasure, so as not to sacrifice that which +occupies the first place, to that which holds only the second. + +I trust that my St. Julian knows me too well, to suppose that I would +separate philosophy and practice, reason and action from each other. It +was by the instructions of my friend, that I learned to rise superior +to the power of prejudice, to reject no truth because it was novel, to +refuse my ear to no arguments because they were not backed by pompous +and venerable names. In pursuance of this system, I have ventured in +my last to suggest some reasons in favour of a moderate indulgence of +youthful pleasures. Perhaps however my dear count will think, that I am +going beyond what even these reasons would authorize in the instance I +am about to relate. + +You are not probably to be informed that there are a certain kind of +necessary people, dependents upon such young noblemen as San Severino +and his friends, upon whom the world has bestowed the denomination +of pimps. One of these gentlemen seemed of late to feel a particular +partiality to myself. He endeavoured by several little instances of +officiousness to become useful to me. At length he told me of a young +person extremely beautiful and innocent, whose first favours he believed +he could engage to procure in my behalf. + +At that idea I started. "And do you think, my good friend," said I, +"because you are acquainted with my having indulged to some of those +pleasures inseparable from my age, that I would presume to ruin +innocence, and be the means of bringing upon a young person so much +remorse and such an unhappy way of life, as must be the inevitable +consequence of a step of this kind?" "My lord," replied the parasite, "I +do not pretend to be any great casuist in these matters. His honour of +San Severino does I know seldom give way to scruples of this kind. But +in the instance I have mentioned there are several things to be said. +The mother of the lady, who formerly moved in a higher sphere than she +does at present, never maintained a very formidable character. This +daughter is the fruit of her indiscriminate amours, and though I am +perfectly satisfied she has not yet been blown upon by the breath of +a mortal, her education has been such as to prepare her to follow the +venerable example of her mother. Your lordship therefore sees that in +this case, you will wrong no parent, and seduce no child, that you will +merely gather an harvest already ripe, and which will be infallibly +reaped by the first comer." + +Though the reasons of my convenient gentleman made me hesitate, they +by no means determined me to the execution of the plan he proposed. He +immediately perceived the situation of my mind, and hinted that he +might at least have the honour of placing me in a certain church, that +afternoon at vespers, where I might have an opportunity of seeing, and +perhaps conversing a little with the lady. To this scheme I assented. + +She appeared not more than sixteen years of age. Her person was small, +but her form was delicate. Her auburn tresses hung about her neck +in great profusion. Her eyes sparkled with vivacity, and even with +intelligence. Her dress was elegant and graceful, but not gaudy. It +was impossible that such a figure should not have had some tendency to +captivate me. Having contemplated her sufficiently at a distance, I +approached nearer. + +The little gipsey turned up her eyes askance, and endeavoured to take a +sly survey of me as I advanced. I accosted her. Her behaviour was full +of that charming hesitation which is uniformly the offspring of youth +and inexperience. She received me with a pretty complaisance, but at +the same time blushed and appeared fluttered she knew not why. I +involuntarily advanced my hand towards her, and she gave me hers with a +kind of unreflecting frankness. There was a good sense and a simplicity +united in her appearance, and the few words she uttered, that pleased +and even affected me. + +Such, my dear friend, is the present state of my amour. I confess I have +frequently considered seduction in an odious light. But here I think few +or none of the objections against it have place. The mellow fruit is +ready to drop from the tree, and seems to solicit some friendly hand to +gather it. + + + + +Letter VIII + + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Palermo_ + +My dear lord, + +Avocations of no agreeable kind, and with which it probably will not +be long before you are sufficiently acquainted, have of late entirely +engrossed me. You will readily believe, that they were concerns of no +small importance, that hindered me from a proper acknowledgment and +attention to the communications of my friend. But I will dismiss my own +affairs for the present, and make a few of the observations to which you +invite me upon the contents of your letters. + +Alas! my Rinaldo is so entirely changed since we used to wander together +among the groves and vallies, and along the banks of that stream which I +now see from my window, that I scarcely know him for the same. Where +is that simplicity, where that undisguised attachment to virtue and +integrity, where that unaccommodating system of moral truth, that used +to live in the bosom of my friend? All the lines of his character seem +to suffer an incessant decay. Shall I fear that the time is hastening +when that sublime and generous spirit shall no longer be distinguished +from the San Severinos, the men of gaiety and pleasure of the age? And +can I look back upon this alteration, and apprehensions thus excited, +and say, "all this has taken place in six poor months?" + +Do not imagine, my dear lord, that I am that severe monitor, that rigid +censor, that would give up his friend for every fault, that knows not +how to make any allowance for the heedless levity of youth. I can +readily suppose a man with the purest heart and most untainted +principles, drawn aside into temporary error. Occasion, opportunity, +example, an accidental dissipation of mind are inlets to vice, against +which perhaps it is not in humanity to be always guarded. + +Confidence, my dear friend, unsuspicious confidence, is the first source +of error. In favour of the presumptuous man, who wantonly incurs danger +and braves temptation, heaven will not interest itself. There can be +no mistake more destitute of foundation, than that which supposes man +exempt from frailty. + +Had not my Rinaldo, trusting too much to his own strength, laid himself +open to dangerous associates, he would now have contemplated those +actions he has been taught to excuse, with disgust and horror. His own +heart would never have taught him that commodious morality he has been +induced to patronize. But he feared them not. He felt, as he assured me, +that firmness of resolution, and ardour of virtue, that might set +these temptations at defiance. Be ingenuous, my friend. Look back, and +acknowledge your mistake. Look back, and acknowledge, that to the purest +and most blameless mind indiscriminate communications are dangerous. + +I had much rather my dear marquis had once deviated from that line of +conduct he had marked out to himself, than that he had undertaken to +defend the deviation, and exerted himself to unlearn principles that did +him honour. You profess to believe that indulgences of this sort are +unavoidable, and the temptations to them irresistible. And is man then +reduced to a par with the brutes? Is there a single passion of the soul, +that does not then cease to be blameless, when it is no longer directed +and restrained by the dictates of reason? A thousand considerations of +health, of interest, of character, respecting ourselves; and of benefit +and inconvenience to society, will be taken into the estimate by the +wise and the good man. + +But these considerations are superseded by that which cannot be +counteracted. And does not the reciprocal power of motives depend upon +the strength and vivacity with which they are exhibited to the mind? The +presence of a superior would at any time restrain us from an unbecoming +action. The sense of a decided interest, the apprehension of a certain, +and very considerable detriment, would deprive the most flattering +temptation of all its blandishments. And are not this sense and this +apprehension in a great degree in the power of every man? + +Tell me, my friend; Shall that action which in a woman is the utter +extinction of all honour, be in a man entirely faultless and innocent? +But the world is not quite so unjust. Such a conduct even in our sex +tends to the diminution of character, is considered in the circle of the +venerable and the virtuous as a subject of shame and concealment, and +if persisted in, causes a person universally to be considered, as alike +unfit for every arduous pursuit, and every sublime undertaking. + +Is it possible indeed, that the society of persons in the lowest state +of profligacy, can be desirable for a man of family, for one who +pretends to honour and integrity? Is it possible that they should not +have some tendency to pollute his ideas, to debase his sentiments, and +to reduce him to the same rank with themselves? If the women you have +described irreclaimable, let it at least be remembered that your +conduct tends to shut up against them the door of reformation and +return, and forces upon them a mode of subsistence which they might not +voluntarily have chosen. + +Thus much for your first letter. Your second calls me to a subject +of greater seriousness and magnitude. My Rinaldo makes hasty strides +indeed! Scarcely embarked in licentious and libertine principles, +he seems to look forward to the last consummation of the debauchee. +Seduction, my dear lord, is an action that will yield in horror to no +crime that ever sprang up in the degenerate breast. + +But it seems, the action you propose to yourself is divested of some +of the aggravations of seduction. I will acknowledge it. Had my friend +received this crime into his bosom in all its deformity, dear as he is +to me, I would have thrown him from my heart with detestation. Yes, I am +firmly persuaded, that the man who perpetrates it, however specious he +may appear, was never conscious to one generous sentiment, never knew +the meaning of rectitude and integrity, but was at all times wrapped up +in that narrow selfishness, that torpid insensibility, that would not +disgrace a fiend. + +He undermines innocence surrounded with all her guard of ingenuous +feelings and virtuous principles. He forces from her station a +defenceless woman, who, without his malignant interposition, might have +filled it with honour and happiness. He heaps up disgrace and misery +upon a family that never gave him provocation, and perhaps brings down +the grey hairs of the heads of it to the grave with calamity. + +Of all hypocrites this man is the most consummate and the most odious. +He dresses his countenance in smiles, while his invention teems with +havoc and ruin. He pretends the sincerest good will without feeling one +sentiment of disinterested and honest affection. He feigns the warmest +attachment that he may the more securely destroy. + +This, my friend, is not the crime of an instant, an action into which +he is hurried by unexpected temptation, and the momentary violence of +passion. He goes about it with deliberation. He lays his plans with all +the subtlety of a Machiavel, and all the flagitiousness of a Borgia. +He executes them gradually from day to day, and from week to week. And +during all this time he dwells upon the luxurious idea, he riots in the +misery he hopes to create. He will tell you he loves. Yes, he loves, as +the hawk loves the harmless dove, as the tyger loves the trembling kid. +And is this the man in whose favour I should ever have been weak enough +to entertain a partiality? I would tear him from my bosom like an adder. +I would crush him like a serpent. + +But your case has not the same aggravations. Here is no father who +prizes the honour of his family more than life, and whose heart is bound +up in the virtue of his only child. Here is no mother a stranger to +disgrace, and who with unremitted vigilance had fought to guard every +avenue to the destruction of her daughter. Even the victim herself has +never learned the beauty of virgin purity, and does not know the value +of that she is about to lose. + +And yet, my Rinaldo, after all these deductions, there is something in +the story of this uninstructed little innocent, even as stated by him +who is ready to destroy her, that greatly interests my wishes in her +favour. She does not know it seems all the calamity of the fate that is +impending over her. She is blindfolded for destruction. She plays with +her ruin, and views with a thoughtless and a partial eye the murderer of +her virtue and her happiness. + + _And, oh, poor helpless nightingale, thought I, + How sweet thou sing'st, how near the deadly snare!_ + +But if you do not accept the proposal that is made you, it is but too +probable what her fate will be, and how soon the event will take +place. And is this an excuse for my friend to offer? Thousands are the +iniquities that are now upon the verge of action. An imagination the +most fertile in horror can scarcely conceive the crimes that will +probably be committed. And shall I therefore with malignant industry +forestal the villain in all his black designs? You do not mean it. + +Permit me yet to suggest one motive more. A connection like that you +have proposed to yourself, might probably make you a father. Of all +the charities incident to the human character, those of a parent are +abundantly the most exquisite and venerable. And can a man of the +smallest sensibility think with calmness, of bringing children into the +world to be the heirs of shame? When he gives them life he entails upon +them dishonour. The father that should look upon them with joy, as a +benefit conferred upon society, and the support of his declining age, +regards them with coldness and alienation. The mother who should +consider them as her boast and her honour, cannot behold them without +opening anew all the sluices of remorse, cannot own them without a +blush. + +This, my Rinaldo, is what you might do, and in doing it you would +perpetrate an action that would occasion to an ingenuous mind an eternal +regret. But there is another thing also that you might do, and that a +mind, indefatigable in the pursuit of rectitude, as was once that of my +friend, would not need to have suggested to it by another. Instead +of treasuring up remorse, instead of preparing for an innocent and +unsuspecting victim a life of misery and shame, you might redeem her +from impending destruction. You might obtain for her an honest and +industrious partner, and enable her to acquire the character of a +virtuous matron, and a respectable mother of a family. + +Reflect for a moment, my dear marquis, on this proposal, which I hope +is yet in your power. Think you, that conscious rectitude, that the +exultation of your heart when you recollect the temptation you have +escaped, and the noble turn you have given it, will not infinitely +overbalance the sordid and fleeting pleasure you are able to attain? +Imagine to yourself that you see her offspring growing up under the care +of a blameless mother, and coming forward to thank you for the benefit +you bestowed upon them before they had a being. Is not this an object +over which a heart susceptible to one manly feeling may reasonably +triumph? + + + + +Letter IX + +_The Count de St. Julian to Signor Hippolito Borelli_ + +_Messina_ + +You, my dear Hippolito, were the only one of my fellow-collegians, to +whom I communicated all the circumstances of that unfortunate situation +which obliged me to take a final leave of the university. The death of +a father, though not endeared by the highest reciprocations of mutual +kindness, must always make some impressions upon a susceptible mind. The +wound was scarcely healed that had been made by the loss of a mother, a +fond mother, who by her assiduous attentions had supplied every want, +and filled up every neglect, to which I might otherwise have been +exposed. + +When I quitted Palermo, I resolved before I determined upon any thing, +to proceed to the residence of my family at Leontini. My reception +was, as I expected, cold and formal. My brother related to me the +circumstances of the death of my father, over which he affected to shed +tears. He then produced his testament for my inspection, pretended to +blame me that though I were the elder, I had so little ingratiated +myself in his favour, and added, that he could not think of being guilty +of so undutiful a conduct, as to contravene the last dispositions of his +father. If however he could be of any use to me in my future plans of +life, he would exert himself to serve me. + +The next morning I quitted Leontini. My reflexions upon the present +posture of my affairs, could not but be melancholy. I was become as it +were a native of the world, discarded from every family, cut off from +every country. Born to a respectable rank and a splendid fortune, I +was precluded in a moment from expectations so reasonable, and an +inheritance which I might have hoped at this time to reap. Many there +are, I doubt not, who have no faculties by which to comprehend the +extent of this misfortune. The loss of possessions sufficiently ample, +and of the power and dignity annexed to his character, who is the +supporter of an ancient name, they would confess was to be regretted. +But I had many resources left. My brother would probably have received +me into his family, and I might have been preserved from the sensations +of exigency and want. And could I think of being obliged for this to +a brother, who had always beheld me with aversion, who was not of +a character to render the benefits he conferred insensible to the +receiver, and who, it was scarcely to be supposed, had not made use of +sinister and ungenerous arts to deprive me of my inheritance? But the +houses of the great were still open. My character was untainted, my +education had been such as to enable me to be useful in a thousand +ways. Ah, my Hippolito, the great are not always possessed of the most +capacious minds. There are innumerable little slights and offences that +shrink from description, but which are sufficient to keep alive the most +mortifying sense of dependency, and to make a man of sensibility, and +proud honour constantly unhappy. And must I, who had hoped to be +the ornament and boast of my country, thus become a burden to my +acquaintance, and a burden to myself? + +Such were the melancholy reflexions in which I was engaged. I had left +Leontini urged by the sentiments of miscarriage and resentment. I fled +from the formality of condolence, and the useless parade of friendship. +I would willingly have hid myself from every face I had hitherto known. +I would willingly have retired to a desart. My thoughts were all in +arms. I revolved a thousand vigorous resolutions without fixing upon +one. + +I had now proceeded somewhat more than two leagues upon my journey, +and had gained the centre of that vast and intricate forest which you +remember to be situated at no great distance from Leontini. In this +place there advanced upon me in a moment four of those bravoes, for +which this place is particularly infamous, and who are noted for their +daring and hazardous atchievements. Myself and my servant defended +ourselves against them for some time. One of them was wounded in the +beginning of the encounter. But it was impossible that we could have +resisted long. My servant was hurt in several places, and I had received +a wound in my arm. In this critical moment a cavalier, accompanied by +several attendants, and who appeared to be armed, advanced at no great +distance. The villains immediately took up their disabled companion, +and retired with precipitation into the thickest part of the wood. My +deliverer now ordered some of his attendants to pursue them, while +himself with one servant remained to assist us. + +Imagine, my dear friend, what were my emotions, when I discovered in my +preserver, the marquis of Pescara! I recollected in a moment all our +former intimacy, and in what manner it had so lately been broken off. +Little did I think that I should almost ever have seen him again. Much +less did I think that I should ever have owed him the most important +obligations. + +The expression of the countenance of both of us upon this sudden +recognition was complicated. Amidst all the surprize and gratitude, that +it was impossible not to testify, my eyes I am convinced had something +in them of the reproach of violated friendship. I thought I could trace, +and by what followed I could not be mistaken, in the air of my Rinaldo, +a confession of wrong, united with a kind of triumph, that he had been +enabled so unexpectedly and completely to regain that moral equilibrium +which he had before lost. + +It was not long before his servants returned from an unsuccessful +pursuit, and we set forward for a village about a quarter of a league +further upon the road from Leontini. It was there that I learned from my +friend the occasion and subject of his journey. He had heard at Naples a +confused report of the death of my father, and the unexpected succession +of my brother. The idea of this misfortune involuntarily afflicted him. +At the thought of my distress all his tenderness revived. "And was it," +it was thus that he described the progress of his reflections, "in +the moment of so unexpected a blow, that my St. Julian neglected the +circumstances of his own situation, to write to me that letter, +the freedom of whose remonstrances, and the earnestness of whose +exhortations so greatly offended me? How much does this consideration +enhance the purity and disinterestedness of his friendship? And is it +possible that I should have taken umbrage at that which was prompted +only by tenderness and attachment? And did I ever speak of his +interference in those harsh and reproachful terms which I so well +knew would be conveyed to him again? Could I have been so blinded by +groundless resentment, as to have painted him in all the colours of an +inflexible dictator, and a presumptuous censor? Could I have imputed his +conduct to motives of pride, affectation, and arrogance? How happy had I +been, had his advice arrived sooner, and been more regarded?" + +But it was not with self-blame and reproach only, that the recovery +of my Rinaldo was contented. The idea of the situation of his friend +incessantly haunted him. No pursuit, no avocation, could withdraw his +attention, or banish the recollection from his mind. He determined to +quit Naples in search of me. He left all those engagements, and all +those pleasures of which he had of late been so much enamoured, and +crossing the sea he came into Sicily. Learning that I had quitted +Palermo, he resolved to pursue his search of me to Leontini. He had +fixed his determination not to quit the generous business upon which he +had entered, without discovering me in my remotest retreat, atoning for +the groundless resentment he had harboured, and contributing every thing +in his power to repair the injustice I had suffered from those of my +own family. And in pursuance of these ideas he has made me the most +disinterested and liberal proposals of friendship and assistance. + +How is it, my Hippolito, that the same man shall be alternately governed +by the meanest and most exalted motives: that he shall now appear an +essence celestial and divine, and now debase himself by a conduct the +most indefensible and unworthy? But such I am afraid is man. Mixed +in all his qualities, and inconsistent in all his purposes. The most +virtuous and most venerable of us all are too often guilty of things +weak, sordid, and disgraceful. And it is to be hoped on the other hand, +that there are few so base and degenerate, as not sometimes to perform +actions of the most undoubted utility, and to feel sentiments dignified +and benevolent. It is in vain that the philosopher fits in his airy +eminence, and seeks to reduce the shapeless mass into form, and +endeavours to lay down rules for so variable and inconstant a system. +Nature mocks his efforts, and the pertinacity of events belies his +imaginary hypotheses. + +But I am guilty of injustice to my friend. An action which he has so +sincerely regretted, and so greatly atoned, ought not to be considered +with so much severity. I trust I am not misled by the personal +interest I may appear to have in his present conduct. I think I should +contemplate it with the same admiration, and allow it the same weight, +if its benevolence entirely regarded another. Indeed I am still in the +greatest uncertainty how to determine. I am still inclined to prefer my +former plan, of entering resolutely upon new scenes and new pursuits, +to that of taking up any durable residence in the palace of my friend. +There is something misbecoming a man in the bloom of youth, and +labouring under no natural disadvantages and infirmities, in the +subsisting in any manner upon the bounty of another. The pride of my +heart, a pride that I do not seek to extinguish, leads me to prefer an +honest independence, in however mean a station, to the most splendid, +and the most silken bondage. + +Why should not he that is born a nobleman be also born a man? A man is a +character superior to all those that civilization has invented. To be a +man is the profession of a citizen of the world. A man of rank is a poor +shivering, exotic plant, that cannot subsist out of his native soil. If +the imaginary barriers of society were thrown down, if we were reduced +back again to a state of nature, the nobleman would appear a shiftless +and a helpless being; he only who knew how to be a man would show like +the creature of God, a being sent into the world with the capacities of +subsistence and enjoyment. The nobleman, an artificial and fantastic +creation, would then lose all that homage in which he plumed himself, he +would be seen without disguise, and be despised by all. + +Oh, my Hippolito, in spite of all this parade of firmness and +resolution, I cannot quit my native country but with the sincerest +regret. I had one tie, why do I mention it? Never did I commit this +confidence to any mortal. It was the dream of a poetical imagination. It +was a vision drawn in the fantastic and airy colours that flow from the +pencil of youth. Fondly I once entertained a hope. I lived upon it. But +it is vanished for ever. + +I shall go from hence with the marquis of Pescara to Naples. I shall +there probably make a residence of several weeks. In that time I +shall have fixed my plans, and immediately after shall enter upon the +execution of them. + + + + +Letter X + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Cosenza_ + +My dear lord, + +Every thing that has happened to me for some time past, appears so +fortunate and extraordinary that I can scarcely persuade myself that +it is not a dream. Is it possible that I should not have been born to +uninterrupted misfortune? The outcast of my father almost as soon as I +had a being, I was never sensible to the solace of paternal kindness, I +could never open my heart, and pour forth all my thoughts into the bosom +of him to whom I owed my existence. Why was I created with a mind so +delicate as to be susceptible of a thousand feelings, and ruffled by a +thousand crosses, that glide unheeded over the breasts of the majority +of mankind? What filial duty did I neglect, what instance of obedience +did I ever refuse, that should have made me be considered with a regard +so rigorous and austere? And was it not punishment enough to be debarred +of all the solace I might have hoped to derive from the cares of a +guardian and a protector? How did I deserve to be deprived of that +patrimony which was my natural claim, to be sent forth, after having +formed so reasonable expectancies, after having received an education +suitable to my rank, unassisted and unprovided, upon the theatre of the +world? + +I had pictured that world to myself as cold, selfish, and unfeeling. +I expected to find the countenances of my fellow-creatures around me +smiling and unconcerned, whatever were my struggles, and whatever were +my disappointments. Philosophy had deprived me of those gay and romantic +prospects, which often fill the bosom of youth. A temper too sensible +and fastidious had taught me not to look for any great degree of +sympathy and disinterested ardour among the bulk of my fellow-creatures. + +I have now found that avoiding one extreme I encountered the other. As +most men, induced by their self-importance, expect that their feelings +should interest, and their situations arrest the attention of those +that surround them; so I having detected their error counted upon less +benevolence and looked for less friendship than I have found. My Rinaldo +demanded to be pardoned for having neglected my advice, and misconstrued +the motives of it. I had not less reason to intreat his forgiveness in +my turn, for having weighed his character with so little detail, and so +hastily decided to his disadvantage. + +My friend will not suspect me of interested flattery, when I say, that I +sincerely rejoice in a conduct so honourable to human nature as his has +been respecting me. He had no motive of vanity, for who was there that +interested himself in the fate of so obscure an individual; who in all +the polite circles and _conversazioni_ of Naples, would give him credit +for his friendship, to a person so unlike themselves? He superseded +all the feelings of resentment, he counted no distance, he passed over +mountains and seas in pursuit of his exalted design. + +But my Rinaldo, generous as he is, is not the only protector that +fortune has raised to the forlorn and deserted St. Julian. You are +acquainted with the liberal and friendly invitation I received from the +duke of Benevento at Messina. His reception was still more cordial and +soothing. He embraced me with warmth, and even wept over me. He could +not refrain from imprecations upon the memory of my father, and he +declared with energy, that the son of Leonora della Colonna should never +suffer from the arbitrary and capricious tyranny of a Sicilian count. +He assured me in the strongest terms that his whole fortune was at +my disposal. Then telling me that his dear and only child had been +impatient for my arrival, he took me by the hand, and led me to the +amiable Matilda. + +A change like this could not but be in the highest degree consolatory +and grateful to my wounded heart. The balm of friendship and affection +is at all times sweet and refreshing. To be freed at once from the +prospect of banishment, and the dread of dependence, to be received with +unbounded friendship and overflowing generosity by a relation of my +mother, and one who places the pride of his family in supporting and +distinguishing me, was an alteration in my circumstances which I could +not have hoped. I am not insensible to kindness. My heart is not shut +against sensations of pleasure. My spirits were exhilarated; my hours +passed in those little gratifications and compliances, by which I might +best manifest my attachment to my benefactor; and I had free recourse +to the society of his lovely daughter, whose conversation animated with +guileless sallies of wit, and graced with the most engaging modesty, +afforded me an entertainment, sweet to my breast, and congenial to my +temper. + +But alas, my dear marquis, it is still true what I have often observed, +that I was not born for happiness. In the midst of a scene from which +it might best be suspected to spring, I am uneasy. My heart is corroded +with anguish, and I have a secret grief, that palls and discolours every +enjoyment, and that, by being carefully shut up in my own bosom, is so +much the more afflicting and irksome. Yes, my Rinaldo, this it was that +gave a sting to the thought of removing to a foreign country. This +was that source of disquiet, which has constantly given me an air of +pensiveness and melancholy. In no intercourse of familiarity, in no hour +of unrestricted friendship, was it ever disclosed. It is not, my friend, +the dream of speculative philosophy, it has been verified in innumerable +facts, it is the subject of the sober experience of every man, that +communication and confidence alleviate every uneasiness. But ah, if it +were before disquiet and melancholy, now it burns, it rages, I am no +longer master of myself. + +You remember, my dear Rinaldo, that once in the course of my residence +at the university, I paid a visit to the duke of Benevento at Cosenza. +It was then that I first saw the amiable Matilda. She appeared to me the +most charming of her sex. Her cheeks had the freshness of the peach, and +her lips were roses. Her neck was alabaster, and her eyes sparkled with +animation, chastened with the most unrivalled gentleness and delicacy. +Her stature, her forehead, her mouth--but ah, impious wretch, how canst +thou pretend to trace her from charm to charm! Who can dissect unbounded +excellence? Who can coolly and deliberately gaze upon the brightness +of the meridian sun? I will say in one word, that her whole figure was +enchanting, that all her gestures were dignity, and every motion was +grace. + +Young and unexperienced I drank without suspicion of the poison of love. +I gazed upon her with extacy. I hung upon every accent of her voice. In +her society I appeared mute and absent. But it was not the silence of an +uninterested person: it was not the distraction of philosophic thought. +I was entirely engaged, my mind was full of the contemplations of her +excellence even to bursting. I felt no vacancy, I was conscious to no +want, I was full of contentment and happiness. + +As soon however as she withdrew, I felt myself melancholy and dejected. +I fled from company. I sought the most impervious solitude. I wasted the +live-long morn in the depth of umbrageous woods, amidst hills and meads, +where I could perceive no trace of a human footstep. I longed to be +alone with the object of my admiration. I thought I had much to say to +her, but I knew not what. I had no plan, my very wishes were not reduced +into a system. It was only, that full of a new and unexperienced +passion, it sought incessantly to break forth. It urged me to disburden +my labouring heart. + +Once I remember I obtained the opportunity I had so long wished. It came +upon me unexpectedly, and I was overwhelmed by it. My limbs trembled, +my eyes lost their wonted faculty. The objects before them swam along +indistinctly. I essayed to speak, my very tongue refused its office. I +felt that I perspired at every pore. I rose to retire, I sat down again +irresolute and confounded. + +Matilda perceived my disorder and coming towards me, enquired with a +tender and anxious voice, whether I felt myself ill. The plaintive and +interesting tone in which she delivered herself completed my confusion. +She rang the bell for assistance, and the scene was concluded. When I +returned to Palermo, I imagined that by being removed from the cause of +my passion, I should insensibly lose the passion itself. Rinaldo, you +know that I am not of that weak and effeminate temper to throw the reins +upon the neck of desire, to permit her a clear and undisputed reign. I +summoned all my reason and all my firmness to my aid. I considered the +superiority of her to whom my affections were attached, in rank, in +expectations, in fortune. I felt that my passion could not naturally be +crowned with success. "And shall I be the poor and feeble slave of love? +Animated as I am with ambition, aspiring to the greatest heights of +knowledge and distinction, shall I degenerate into an amorous and +languishing boy; shall I wilfully prepare for myself a long vista of +disappointment? Shall I by one froward and unreasonable desire, stain +all my future prospects, and discolour all those sources of enjoyment, +that fate may have reserved for me?" Alas, little did I then apprehend +that loss of fortune that was about to place me still more below the +object of my wishes! + +But my efforts were vain. I turned my attention indeed to a variety of +pursuits. I imagined that the flame which had sprung up at Cosenza was +entirely extinguished. I seemed to retain from it nothing but a kind of +soft melancholy and a sober cast of thought, that made me neither less +contented with myself, nor less agreeable to those whose partiality I +was desirous to engage. + +But I no sooner learned that reverse of fortune which disclosed itself +upon the death of my father, than I felt how much I had been deceived. I +had only drawn a slight cover over the embers of passion, and the fire +now broke out with twice its former violence. I had nourished it +unknown to myself with the distant ray of hope, I had still cheated my +imagination with an uncertain prospect of success. When every prospect +vanished, when all hopes were at an end, it burst every barrier, it +would no longer be concealed. My temper was in the utmost degree +unsuitable to a state of dependence, but it was this thought that made +it additionally harsh and dreadful to my mind. I loved my country with +the sincerest affection, but it was this that made banishment worse than +ten thousand deaths. The world appeared to me a frightful solitude, with +not one object that could interest all my attention, and fill up all the +wishes of my heart. + +From these apprehensions, and this dejection, I have been unexpectedly +delivered. But, oh, my dear marquis, what is the exchange I have made? I +reside under the same roof with the adorable Matilda. I see every day, +I converse without restraint with her, whom I can never hope to call +my own. Can I thus go on to cherish a passion, that can make me no +promises, that can suggest to me no hopes? Can I expect always to +conceal this passion from the most penetrating eyes? How do I know that +I am not at this moment discovered, that the next will not lay my heart +naked in the sight of the most amiable of women? + +Cosenza! thou shalt not long be my abode. I will not live for ever in +unavailing struggles. Concealment shall not always be the business of +the simplest and most undisguised of all dispositions. I will not +watch with momentary anxiety, I will not tremble with distracting +apprehensions. Matilda, thy honest and unsuspecting heart by me shall +never be led astray. If the fond wishes of a father are reserved for +cruel disappointment, I will not be the instrument. My secret shall lie +for ever buried in this faithful breast. It shall die with me. I will +fly to some distant land. I will retire to some country desolated by +ever burning suns, or buried beneath eternal snows. There I can love +at liberty. There I can breathe my sighs without one tell-tale wind to +carry them to the ears, with them to disturb the peace of those whom +beyond all mankind I venerate and adore. I may be miserable, I may be +given up to ever-during despair. But my patron and his spotless daughter +shall be happy. + +Alas, this is but the paroxysm of a lover's rage. I have no resolution, +I am lost in perplexity. I have essayed in vain, I cannot summon +together my scattered thoughts. Oh, my friend, never did I stand so much +in need of a friend as now. Advise me, instruct me. To the honesty of +your advice, and the sincerity of your friendship I can confide. Tell me +but what to do, and though you send me to the most distant parts of the +globe, I will not hesitate. + + + + +Letter XI + + +_The Same to the Same_ + +_Cosenza_ + +My most dear lord, + +Expect me in ten days from the date of this at your palace at Naples. My +mind is now become more quiet and serene than when I last wrote to you. +I have considered of the whole subject of that letter with perfect +deliberation. And I have now come to an unchangeable resolution. + +It is this which has restored a comparative tranquility to my thoughts. +Yes, my friend, there is a triumph in fortitude, an exultation in +heroical resolve, which for a moment at least, sets a man above the most +abject and distressing circumstances. Since I have felt my own dignity +and strength, the tumultuous hurry of my mind is stilled. I look upon +the objects around me with a calm and manly despair. I have not yet +disclosed my intentions to the duke, and I may perhaps find some +difficulty in inducing him to acquiesce in them. But I will never change +them. + +You will perceive from what I have said, that my design in coming to +Naples is to prepare for a voyage. I do not doubt of the friendship and +generous assistance of the duke of Benevento. I shall therefore enter +upon my new scheme of life with a more digested plan, and better +prospects.--But why do I talk of prospects! + +I have attempted, and with a degree of success, to dissipate my mind +within a few days past, by superintending the alterations about which +you spoke to me, in your gardens at this place. You will readily +perceive how unavoidably I am called off from an employment, which +derives a new pleasure from the sentiments of friendship it is +calculated to awaken, by the perverse and unfortunate events of my life. + + + + +Letter XII + + +_The Same to the Same_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +Why is it, my dear marquis, that the history of my life is so +party-coloured and extraordinary, that I am unable to foresee at the +smallest distance what is the destiny reserved for me? Happiness and +misery, success and disappointment so take their turns, that in the one +I have not time for despair, and in the other I dare not permit to my +heart a sincere and unmingled joy. + +The day after I dispatched my last letter the duke of Benevento, whose +age is so much advanced, was seized with a slight paralytic stroke. +He was for a short time deprived of all sensation. The trouble of his +family, every individual of which regards him with the profoundest +veneration, was inexpressible. Matilda, the virtuous Matilda, could not +be separated from the couch of her father. She hung over him with the +most anxious affection. She watched every symptom of his disorder, and +every variation of his countenance. + +I am convinced, my dear Rinaldo, that there is no object so beautiful +and engaging as this. A woman in all the pride of grace, and fulness of +her charms, tending with unwearied care a feeble and decrepid parent; +all her features informed with melting anxiety and filial tenderness, +yet suppressing the emotions of her heart and the wilder expressions of +sorrow; subduing even the stronger sentiments of nature, that she may +not by an useless and inconsiderate grief supersede the kind care, and +watchful attention, that it is her first ambition to yield. It is a +trite observation, that beauty never appears so attractive as when +unconscious of itself; and I am sure, that no self-forgetfulness can be +so amiable, as that which is founded in the emotions of a tender and +gentle heart. The disorder of the duke however was neither violent nor +lasting. In somewhat less than an hour, the favourable symptoms began to +appear, and he gradually recovered. In the mean time a certain lassitude +and feebleness remained from the shock he received, which has not yet +subsided. + +But what language shall I find to describe to my Rinaldo the scene to +which this event furnished the occasion? + +The next day the duke sent for his daughter and myself into his chamber. +As soon as we were alone he began to describe, in terms that affected us +both, the declining state of his health. "I feel," said he, "that +this poor worn-out body totters to its fall. The grave awaits me. The +summonses of death are such as cannot but be heard. + +"Death however inspires me with no terror. I have lived long and +happily. I have endeavoured so to discharge every duty in this world as +not to be afraid to meet the supreme source of excellence in another. +The greatness of him that made us is not calculated to inspire terror +but to the guilty. Power and exalted station, though increased to an +infinite degree, cannot make a just and virtuous being tremble. + +"Heaven has blessed me with a daughter, the most virtuous of her sex. +Her education has been adequate to the qualities which nature bestowed +upon her. I may without vanity assert, that Italy cannot produce her +parragon.--The first families of my country might be proud to receive +her into their bosom, princes might sue for her alliance. But I had +rather my Matilda should be happy than great. + +"Come near, my dear count. I will number you also among the precious +gifts of favouring heaven. Your reputation stands high in the world, and +is without a blemish. From earliest youth your praises were music to my +ears. But great as they were, till lately I knew not half your worth. +Had I known it sooner, I would sooner have studied how to reward it. I +should then perhaps have been too happy. + +"Believe me, my St. Julian, I have had much experience. In successive +campaigns, I have encountered hardships and danger. I have frequented +courts, and know their arts. Do not imagine then, young and unsuspecting +as you are, that you have been able to hide from me one wish of your +heart. I know that you love my daughter. I have beheld your growing +attachment with complacency. My Matilda, if I read her sentiments +aright, sees you with a favourable eye. Pursue her, my son, and win her. +If you can gain her approbation, doubt not that I will give my warmest +benedictions to the auspicious union." + +You will readily believe, that my first care was to return my most +ardent thanks to my protector and father. Immediately however I cast an +anxious and enquiring eye upon the mistress of my heart. Her face was +covered with blushes. I beheld in her a timidity and confusion that made +me tremble. But my suspence was not long. I have since drawn from her +the most favourable and transporting confession. Oh, my friend, she +acknowledges that from the first moment she saw me, she contemplated me +with partiality. She confesses, that her father by the declaration he +has made, so far from thwarting her ambition and disappointing her +wishes, has conferred upon her the highest obligation. How much, my dear +Rinaldo, is the colour of my fortune changed. It was upon this day, +at this very hour, I had determined to leave Cosenza for ever. I had +consigned myself over to despair. I was about to enter upon a world +where every face I beheld would have been a stranger to me. The scene +would have been uniform and desolate. I should have left all the +attachments of my youth, I should have left the very centre of my +existence behind me. I should have ceased to live. I should only have +drawn along a miserable train of perceptions from year to year, without +one bright day, without one gay prospect, to illuminate the gloomy +scene, and tell me that I was. + +Is it possible then that every expectation, and the whole colour of my +future life, can be so completely altered? Instead of despair, felicity. +Instead of one dark, unvaried scene, a prospect of still increasing +pleasure. Instead of standing alone, a monument of misfortune, an object +to awaken compassion in the most obdurate, shall I stand alone, the +happiest of mortals? Yes, I will never hereafter complain that nature +denied me a father, I have found a more than father. I will never +complain of calamity and affliction, in my Matilda I receive an +over-balance for them all. + + + + +Letter XIII + +_The Same to the Same_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +Alas, my friend, the greatest sublunary happiness is not untinged with +misfortune. I have no right however to exclaim. The misfortune to which +I am subject, however nearly it may affect me, makes no alteration in +the substance of my destiny. I still trust that I shall call my Matilda +mine. I still trust to have long successive years of happiness. And can +a mortal blessed as I, dare to complain? Can I give way to lamentation +and sorrow? Yes, my Rinaldo. The cloud will quickly vanish, but such is +the fate of mortals. The events, which, when sunk in the distant past, +affect us only with a calm regret, in the moment in which they overtake +us, overwhelm us with sorrow. + +I mentioned in my last, that the disorder of the duke of Benevento was +succeeded by a feebleness and languor that did not at first greatly +alarm us. It however increased daily, and was attended with a kind of +listlessness and insensibility that his physicians regarded as a very +dangerous symptom. Almost the only marks he discovered of perception and +pleasure, were in the attendance of the adorable Matilda. Repeatedly +at intervals he seized her trembling hand, and pressed it to his dying +lips. + +As the symptoms of feebleness increased upon him incessantly, he was +soon obliged to confine himself to his chamber. After an interval of +near ten days he became more clear and sensible. He called several of +his servants into the room, and gave them directions which were to be +executed after his decease. He then sent to desire that I would attend +him. His daughter was constantly in his chamber. He took both our hands +and joining them together, bowed over them his venerable head, and +poured forth a thousand prayers for our mutual felicity. We were +ourselves too much affected to be able to thank him for all his +tenderness and attention. + +By these exertions, and the affection with which they were mingled, +the spirits and strength of the duke were much exhausted. He almost +immediately fell into a profound sleep. But as morning approached, he +grew restless and disturbed. Every unfavourable symptom appeared. A +stroke still more violent than the preceding seized him, and he expired +in about two hours. + +Thus terminated a life which had been in the highest degree exemplary +and virtuous. In the former part of it, this excellent man distinguished +himself much in the service of his country, and engaged the affection +and attachment of his prince. He was respected by his equals, and adored +by the soldiery. His humanity was equally conspicuous with his courage. +When he left the public service for his retirement at this place, he did +not forget his former engagements, and his connexion with the army. +It is not perhaps easy for a government to make a complete and ample +provision for those poor men whose most vigorous years were spent in +defending their standard. Certain it is that few governments attend to +this duty in the degree in which they ought, and a wide field is left +for the benevolence of individuals. This benevolence was never more +largely and assiduously exhibited than by the duke of Benevento. He +provided for many of those persons of whose fidelity and bravery he had +been an eyewitness, in the most respectable offices in his family, and +among his retinue. Those for whom he could not find room in these +ways he gratified with pensions. He afforded such as were not yet +incapacitated for labour, the best spur to an honest industry, the +best solace under fatigue and toil, that of being assured that their +decrepitude should never stand in need of the simple means of comfort +and subsistence. + +It may naturally be supposed that the close of a life crowded with deeds +of beneficence, the exit of a man whose humanity was his principal +feature, was succeeded by a very general sorrow. Among his domestics +there appeared an universal gloom and dejection. His peasants and his +labourers lamented him as the best of masters, and the kindest of +benefactors. His pensionaries wept aloud, and were inconsolable for the +loss of him, in whom they seemed to place all their hopes of comfort and +content. + +You might form some idea of the sorrow of the lovely Matilda amidst this +troop of mourners, if I had been able to convey to you a better idea of +the softness and gentleness of her character. As the family had been +for some years composed only of his grace and herself, her circle of +acquaintance has never been extensive. Her father was all the world to +her. The duke had no enjoyment but in the present felicity and future +hopes of his daughter. The pleasures of Matilda were centered in the +ability she possessed of soothing the infirmities, and beguiling the +tedious hours of her aged parent. + +There is no virtue that adds so noble a charm to the finest traits of +beauty, as that which exerts itself in watching over the tranquility of +an aged parent. There are no tears that give so noble a lustre to the +cheek of innocence, as the tears of filial sorrow. Oh, my Rinaldo! I +would not exchange them for all the pearls of Arabia, I would not barter +them for the mines of Golconda. No, amiable Matilda, I will not check +thy chaste and tender grief. I prize it as the pledge of my future +happiness. I esteem it as that which raises thee to a level with angelic +goodness. Hence, thou gross and vulgar passion! that wouldst tempt me +to kiss away the tears from her glowing cheeks. I will not soil their +spotless purity. I will not seek to mix a thought of me with a sentiment +not unworthy of incorporeal essences. + +I shall continue at this place to regulate the business of the funeral. +I shall endeavour to put all the affairs of the lovely heiress into a +proper train. I will then wait upon my dear marquis at his palace in +Naples. For a few weeks, a few tedious weeks, I will quit the daily +sight and delightful society of my amiable charmer. At the expiration of +that term I shall hope to set out with my Rinaldo for his villa at +this place. Every thing is now in considerable forwardness, and will +doubtless by that time be prepared for your reception. + + + + +Letter XIV + + +_The Count de St. Julian to Matilda della Colonna_ + +_Naples_ + +I will thank you a thousand times for the generous permission you gave +me, to write to you from this place. I have waited an age, lovely +Matilda, that I might not intrude upon your hours of solitude and +affliction, and violate the feelings I so greatly respect. You must not +now be harsh and scrupulous. You must not cavil at the honest expression +of those sentiments you inspire. Can dissimulation ever be a virtue? +Can it ever be a duty to conceal those emotions of the soul upon which +honour has set her seal, and studiously to turn our discourse to +subjects uninteresting and distant to the heart? + +How happy am I in a passion which received the sanction of him, who +alone could claim a voice in the disposal of you! There are innumerable +lovers, filled with the most ardent passion, aiming at the purest +gratifications, whose happiness is traversed by the cold dictates of +artificial prudence, by the impotent distinctions of rank and family. +Unfeeling parents rise to thwart their wishes. The despotic hand +of authority tears asunder hearts united by the softest ties, and +sacrifices the prospect of felicity to ridiculous and unmeaning +prejudices. Let us, my Matilda, pity those whose fate is thus +unpropitious, but let us not voluntarily subject ourselves to their +misfortune. No voice is raised to forbid our union. Heaven and earth +command us to be happy. + +Alas, I am sufficiently unfortunate, that the arbitrary decorums of +society have banished me from your presence. In vain Naples holds out to +me all her pleasures and her luxury. Ill indeed do they pay me for the +exchange. Its court, its theatres, its assemblies, and its magnificence, +have no attractions for me. I had rather dwell in a cottage with her I +love, than be master of the proudest palace this city has to boast. + +In compliance with the obliging intreaties of the marquis of Pescara, I +have entered repeatedly into the scene of her entertainments. But I was +distracted and absent. A variety of topics were started of literature, +philosophy, news, and fashion. The man of humour told his pleasant tale, +and the wit flashed with his lively repartee. But I heard them not. +Their subjects were in my eye tedious and uninteresting. They talked +not of the natural progress of the passions. They did not dissect the +characters of the friend and the lover. My heart was at Cosenza. + +Fatigued with the crowded assembly and the fluttering parterre, I sought +relief in solitude. Never was solitude so grateful to me. I indulged +in a thousand reveries. Gay hope exhibited all her airy visions to +my fancy. I formed innumerable prospects of felicity, and each more +ravishing than the last. The joys painted by my imagination were surely +too pure, too tranquil to last for ever. Oh how sweet is an untasted +happiness! But ours, Matilda, shall be great, beyond what expectation +can suggest. Ours shall teem with ever fresh delights, refined by +sentiment, sanctified by virtue. Nothing but inevitable fate shall +change it. May that fate be distant as I wish it! + +But alas, capricious and unbounded fancy has sometimes exhibited a +different scene. A heart, enamoured, rivetted to its object like mine, +cannot but have intervals of solicitude and anxiety. If it have no real +subject of uncertainty and fear, it will create to itself imaginary +ones. But I have no need of these. I am placed at a distance from the +mistress of my heart, which may seem little to a cold and speculative +apprehension, but which my soul yearns to think of. My fate has not yet +received that public sanction which can alone put the finishing stroke +to my felicity. I cannot suspect, even in my most lawless flights, +the most innocent and artless of her sex of inconstancy. But how +many unexpected accidents may come between me and my happiness? How +comfortless is the thought that I can at no time say, "Now the amiable +Matilda is in health; now she dwells in peace and safety?" I receive an +account of her health, a paquet reaches me from Cosenza. Alas, it is two +tedious days from the date of the information. Into two tedious days how +many frightful events may be crowded by tyrant fancy! + + + + +Letter XV + + +_The Same to the Same_ + +_Naples_ + +I have waited, charming Matilda, with the most longing impatience in +hopes of receiving a letter from your own hand. Every post has agitated +me with suspense. My expectation has been continually raised, and as +often defeated. Many a cold and unanimated epistle has intruded +itself into my hands, when I thought to have found some token full of +gentleness and tenderness, which might have taught my heart to overflow +with rapture. If you knew, fair excellence, how much pain and uneasiness +your silence has given me, you could not surely have been so cruel. The +most rigid decorum could not have been offended by one scanty billet +that might just have informed me, I still retained a tender place in +your recollection. One solitary line would have raised me to a state of +happiness that princes might envy. + +A jealous and contracted mind placed in my situation, might fear to +undergo the imputation of selfishness and interest. He would represent +to himself, how brilliant was your station, how exalted your rank, how +splendid your revenues, and what a poor, deserted, and contemptible +figure I made in the eyes of the world, when your father first honoured +me with his attention. My Matilda were a match for princes. Her external +situation in the highest degree magnificent. Her person lovely and +engaging beyond all the beauty that Italy has to boast. Her mind +informed with the most refined judgment, the most elegant taste, the +most generous sentiments. When the dictates of prudence and virtue flow +from her beauteous lips, philosophers might listen with rapture, sages +might learn wisdom. And is it possible that this all-accomplished +woman can stoop from the dignity of her rank and the greatness of her +pretensions, to a person so obscure, so slenderly qualified as I am? + +But no, my Matilda, I am a stranger to these fears, my breast is +unvisited by the demon of suspicion. I employ no precaution. I do not +seek to constrain my passion. I lay my heart naked before you. I shall +ever maintain the most grateful sense of the benevolent friendship +of your venerable father, of your own unexampled and ravishing +condescension. But love, my amiable Matilda, knows no distinction of +rank. We cannot love without building our ardour upon the sense of a +kind of equality. All obligations must here in a manner cease but those +which are mutual. Those hearts that are sensible to the distance of +benefactor and client, are strangers to the sweetest emotions of this +amiable passion. + +But who is there that is perfectly master of his own character? Who +is there that can certainly foretel what will be his feelings and +sentiments in circumstances yet untried? Do not then, fairest, gentlest, +of thy sex, torture the lover that adores you. Do not persist in cold +and unexpressive silence. A thousand times have those lips made the +chaste confession of my happiness. A thousand times upon that hand have +I sealed my gratitude. Yet do I stand in need of fresh assurances. +Mutual attachment subsists not but in communication and sympathy. I +count the tedious moments. My wayward fancy paints in turn all the +events that are within the region of possibility. Too many of them there +are, against the apprehension of which no precaution can secure me. Do +not, my lovely Matilda, do not voluntarily increase them. Is not the +comfortless distance to which I am banished a sufficient punishment, +without adding to it those uneasinesses it is so much in your power to +remove? + + + + +Letter XVI + +_Matilda della Colonna to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +Is it possible you can put an unfavourable construction upon my silence? +You are not to be informed that it was nothing more than the simplest +dictates of modesty and decency required. I cannot believe, that if I +had offended against those dictates, it would not have sunk me a little +in your esteem. Your sex indeed is indulged with a large and extensive +licence. But in ours, my dear friend, propriety and decorum cannot be +too assiduously preserved. Our reputation is at the disposal of every +calumniator. The minutest offence can cast a shade upon it. A long and +uninterrupted course of the most spotless virtue can never restore it to +its first unsullied brightness. Many and various indeed are the steps by +which it may be tarnished, short of the sacrifice of chastity, and the +total dereliction of character. + +There is no test of gentleness and integrity of heart more obvious, +than the discharge of the filial duties. A truly mild and susceptible +disposition will sympathize in the concerns of a parent with the most +ardent affection, will be melted by his sufferings into the tenderest +sorrow. The child whose heart feels not with peculiar anguish the +distresses of him, from whom he derived his existence, to whom he owes +the most important obligations, and with whom he has been in habits +of unbounded confidence from earliest infancy, must be of a character +harsh, savage, and detestable. How can he be expected to melt over the +tale of a stranger? How can his hand be open to relief and munificence? +How can he discharge aright the offices of a family, and the duties of a +citizen? + +Recollect, my friend, never had any child a parent more gentle and +affectionate than mine. I was all his care and all his pride. He knew no +happiness but that of gratifying my desires, and outrunning my wishes. +He was my all. I have for several years, and even before I was able +properly to understand her value, lost a tender mother. In my surviving +parent then all my attachments centered. He was my protector and my +guide, he was my friend and my companion. All other connexions were +momentary and superficial. And till I knew my St. Julian, my warmest +affections never strayed from my father's roof. + +Do not however imagine, that in the moment of my sincerest sorrow, I +scarcely for one hour forget you. My sentiments have ever been the same. +They are the dictates of an upright and uncorrupted heart, and I do not +blush to own them. + +Undissipated in an extensive circle of acquaintance, untaught by the +prejudices of my education to look with a favourable eye upon the +majority of the young nobility of the present age, I saw you with a +heart unexperienced and unworn with the knowledge and corruptions of +the world. I saw you in your character totally different from the young +persons of your own rank. And the differences I discovered, were all +of them such, as recommended you to my esteem. My unguarded heart had +received impressions, even before the voice of my father had given a +sanction to my inclinations, that would not easily have been effaced. +When he gave me to you, he gave you a willing hand. Your birth is +noble and ancient as my own. Fortune has no charms for me. I have no +attachment to the brilliant circle, and the gaiety of public life. My +disposition, naturally grave and thoughtful, demands but few associates, +beside those whose hearts are in some degree in unison with my own. I +had rather live in a narrow circle united with a man, distinguished by +feeling, virtue, and truth, than be the ornament of courts, and the envy +of kingdoms. + +Previous to my closing this letter, I sent to enquire of the _maitre +d'hotel_ of the villa of the marquis, in what forwardness were his +preparations for the intended visit of his master. He informs me that +they will be finished in two days at farthest. I suppose it will not be +long from that time, before his lordship will set out from Naples. You +of course are inseparable from him. + + +END OF VOLUME I _Italian Letters_ + + + + + + +VOLUME II + + + +Letter I + +_The Marquis of Pescara to the Marquis of San Severino_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +My dear lord, + +I need not tell you that this place is celebrated for one of the most +beautiful spots of the habitable globe. Every thing now flourishes. +Nature puts on her gayest colours, and displays all her charms. The +walks among the more cultivated scenes of my own grounds, and amidst the +wilder objects of this favoured region are inexpressibly agreeable. The +society of my pensive and sentimental friend is particularly congenial +with the scenery around me. Do not imagine that I am so devoid of taste +as not to derive exquisite pleasure from these sources. Yet believe me, +there are times in which I regret the vivacity of your conversation, and +the amusements of Naples. + +Is this, my dear Ferdinand, an argument of a corrupted taste, or an +argument of sound and valuable improvement? Much may be said on both +sides. Of the mind justly polished, without verging to the squeamish and +effeminate, nature exhibits the most delightful sources of enjoyment. He +that turns aside from the simplicity of her compositions with disgust, +for the sake of the over curious and laboured entertainments of which +art is the inventor, may justly be pronounced unreasonably nice, and +ridiculously fastidious. + +But then on the other hand, the finest taste is of all others the most +easily offended. The mind most delicate and refined, requires the +greatest variety of pleasures. So much for logic. Let me tell you, +however, be it wisdom or be it folly, I owe it entirely to you. It is a +revolution in my humour, to which I was totally a stranger when I left +Palermo. + +I have not yet seen this rich and celebrated heiress of whom you told me +so much. It is several years since I remember to have been in company +where she was, and it is more than probable that I should not even know +her. If however I were to give full credit to the rhapsodies of my good +friend the count, whose description of her, by the way, has something +in it of romantic and dignified, which pleases me better than yours, as +luscious as it is, I should imagine her a perfect angel, beautiful +as Venus, chaste as Diana, majestic as the mother of the gods, and +enchanting as the graces. I know not why, but since I have studied the +persons of the fair under your tuition, I have felt the most impatient +desire to be acquainted with this _nonpareil_. + +No person however has yet been admitted into the sanctuary of the +goddess, except the person destined by the late duke to be her husband. +He himself has seen her but for a second time. It should seem, that as +many ceremonies were necessary in approaching her, as in being presented +to his holiness; and that she were as invisible as the emperor +of Ispahan. I am however differently affected by the perpetual +conversations of St. Julian upon the subject, than I am apt to think you +would be. You would probably first laugh at his extravagance, and then +be fatigued to death with his perseverance. For my part, I am agreeably +entertained with the romance of his sentiments, and highly charmed with +their disinterestedness and their virtue. + +Yes, my dear marquis, you may talk as you please of the wildness and +impracticability of the sentiments of my amiable solitaire, they are at +least in the highest degree amusing and beautiful. There is a voice +in every breast, whose feelings have not yet been entirely warped by +selfishness, responsive to them. It is in vain that the man of gaiety +and pleasure pronounces them impracticable, the generous heart gives the +lie to his assertions. He must be under the power of the poorest and +most despicable prejudices, who would reduce all human characters to a +level, who would deny the reality of all those virtues that the world +has idolized through revolving ages. Nothing can be disputed with +less plausibility, than that there are in the world certain noble and +elevated spirits, that rise above the vulgar notions and the narrow +conduct of the bulk of mankind, that soar to the sublimest heights of +rectitude, and from time to time realize those virtues, of which the +interested and illiberal deny the possibility. + +I can no more doubt, than I do of the truth of these apothegms, that the +count de St. Julian is one of these honourable characters. He treads +without the airy circle of dissipation. He is invulnerable to the +temptations of folly; he is unshaken by the examples of profligacy. +They are such characters as his that were formed to rescue mankind from +slavery, to prop the pillars of a declining state, and to arrest Astraea +in her re-ascent to heaven. They are such characters whose virtues +surprize astonished mortals, and avert the vengeance of offended heaven. + +Matilda della Colonna is, at least in the apprehension of her admirer, a +character quite as singular in her own sex as his can possibly appear to +me. They were made for each other. She is the only adequate reward that +can be bestowed upon his exalted virtues. Oh, my Ferdinand, there must +be a happiness reserved for such as these, which must make all other +felicity comparatively weak and despicable. It is the accord of the +purest sentiments. It is the union of guiltless souls. Its nature is +totally different from that of the casual encounter of the sexes, or +the prudent conjunctions in which the heart has no share. In the +considerations upon which it is founded, corporeal fitnesses occupy but +a narrow and subordinate rank, personal advantages and interest are +admitted for no share. It is the sympathy of hearts, it is the most +exalted species of social intercourse. + + + +Letter II + +_The Count de St. Julian to Signor Hippolito Borelli_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +My dear Hippolito, + +I have already acquainted you as they occurred, with those +circumstances, which have introduced so incredible an alteration in my +prospects and my fortune. From being an outcast of the world, a young +man without protectors, a nobleman without property, a lover despairing +ever to possess the object of his vows, I am become the most favoured +of mortals, the happiest of mankind. There is no character that I envy, +there is no situation for which I would exchange my own. My felicity is +of the colour of my mind; my prospects are those, for the fruition of +which heaven created me. What have I done to deserve so singular a +blessing? Is it possible that no wayward fate, no unforeseen and +tremendous disaster should come between me and my happiness? + +My Matilda is the most amiable of women. Every day she improves upon +me. Every day I discover new attractions in this inexhaustible mine of +excellence. Never was a character so simple, artless and undisguised. +Never was a heart so full of every tender sensibility. How does her +filial sorrow adorn, and exalt her? How ravishing is that beauty, that +is embellished with melancholy, and impearled with tears? + +Even when I suffer most from the unrivalled delicacy of her sentiments, +I cannot but admire. Ah, cruel Matilda, and will not one banishment +satisfy the inflexibility of thy temper, will not all my past sufferings +suffice to glut thy severity? Is it still necessary that the happiness +of months must be sacrificed to the inexorable laws of decorum? Must I +seek in distant climes a mitigation of my fate? Yes, too amiable tyrant, +thou shalt be obeyed. It will be less punishment to be separated from +thee by mountains crowned with snow, by impassable gulphs, by boundless +oceans, than to reside in the same city, or even under the same roof, +and not be permitted to see those ravishing beauties, to hear that sweet +expressive voice. + +You know, my dear Hippolito, the unspeakable obligations I have received +from my amiable friend, the marquis of Pescara. Though these obligations +can never be fully discharged, yet I am happy to have met with an +opportunity of demonstrating the gratitude that will ever burn in my +heart. My Rinaldo even rates the service I have undertaken to perform +for him beyond its true value. Would it were in my power to serve him as +greatly, as essentially as I wish! + +The estate of the house of Pescara in Castile is very considerable. +Though it has been in the possession of the noble ancestors of my friend +for near two centuries, yet, by the most singular fortune, there has +lately arisen a claimant to more than one half of it. His pleas, though +destitute of the smallest plausibility, are rendered formidable by the +possession he is said to have of the patronage and favour of the first +minister. In a word, it is become absolutely necessary for his lordship +in person, or some friend upon whose integrity and discretion he can +place the firmest dependence, to solicit his cause in the court of +Madrid. The marquis himself is much disinclined to the voyage, and +though he had too much delicacy in his own temper, and attachment to my +interest, to propose it himself, I can perceive that he is not a little +pleased at my having voluntarily undertaken it. + +My disposition is by nature that of an insatiable curiosity. I was not +born to be confined within the narrow limits of one island, or one +petty kingdom. My heart is large and capacious. It rises above local +prejudices; it forms to itself a philosophy equally suited to all the +climates of the earth; it embraces the whole human race. The majority +of my countrymen entertain the most violent aversion for the Spanish +nation. For my own part I can perceive in them many venerable and +excellent qualities. Their friendship is inviolable, their politeness +and hospitality of the most disinterested nature. Their honour is +unimpeached, and their veracity without example. Even from those traits +in their character, that appear the most absurd, or that are too often +productive of the most fatal consequences, I expect to derive amusement +and instruction. I doubt not, however pure be my flame for Matilda, that +the dissipation and variety of which this voyage will be productive, +will be friendly to my ease. I shall acquire wisdom and experience. I +shall be better prepared to fill up that most arduous of all characters, +the respectable and virtuous father of a family. + +In spite however of all these considerations, with which I endeavour to +console myself in the chagrin that preys upon my mind, the approaching +separation cannot but be in the utmost degree painful to me. In spite of +the momentary fortitude, that tells me that any distance is better than +the being placed within the reach of the mistress of my soul without +being once permitted to see her, I cannot help revolving with the most +poignant melancholy, the various and infinitely diversified objects that +shall shortly divide us. Repeatedly have I surveyed with the extremest +anguish the chart of those seas that I am destined to pass. I have +measured for the twentieth time the course that is usually held in this +voyage. Every additional league appears to me a new barrier between me +and my wishes, that I fear to be able to surmount a second time. + +And is it possible that I can leave my Matilda without a guardian to +protect her from unforeseen distress, without a monitor to whisper +to her in every future scene the constancy of her St. Julian? No, my +Hippolito, the objection would be insuperable. But thanks, eternal +thanks to propitious heaven! I have a friend in whom I can confide as my +own soul, whose happiness is dearer to me than my own. Yes, my Rinaldo, +whatever may be my destiny, in whatever scenes I may be hereafter +placed, I will recollect that my Matilda is under thy protection, and be +satisfied. I will recollect the obligations you have already conferred +upon me, and I will not hesitate to add to them that, which is greater +than them all. + + + +Letter III + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Naples_ + +Best of friends, + +Every thing is now prepared for my voyage. The ship will weigh anchor in +two days at farthest. This will be the last letter you will receive from +me before I bid adieu to Italy. + +I have not yet shaken off the melancholy with which the affecting leave +I took of the amiable Matilda impressed me. Never will the recollection +be effaced from my memory. It was then, my Rinaldo, that she laid aside +that delicate reserve, that lovely timidity, which she had hitherto +exhibited. It was then that she poured forth, without restraint, all the +ravishing tenderness of her nature. How affecting were those tears? How +heart-rending the sighs that heaved her throbbing bosom? When will those +tender exclamations cease to vibrate in my ear? When will those piercing +cries give over their task, the torturing this constant breast? You, my +friend, were witness to the scene, and though a mere spectator, I am +mistaken if it did not greatly affect you. + +Hear me, my Rinaldo, and let my words sink deep into your bosom. Into +your hands I commit the most precious jewel that was ever intrusted to +the custody of a friend. You are the arbiter of my fate. More, much more +than my life is in your disposal. If you should betray me, you will +commit a crime, that laughs to scorn the frivolity of all former +baseness. You will inflict upon me a torture, in comparison of which all +the laborious punishments that tyrants have invented, are couches of +luxury, are beds of roses. + +Forgive me, my friend, the paroxysm of a lover's rage. I should deserve +all the punishments it would be in your power to inflict, if I harboured +the remotest suspicion of your fidelity. No, I swear by all that is +sacred, it is my richest treasure, it is my choicest consolation. +Wherever I am, I will bear it about with me. In every reverse of fortune +I will regard it as the surest pledge of my felicity. Mountains shall +be hurled from their eternal bases, lofty cities shall be crumbled into +dust, but my Rinaldo shall never be false. + +It is this consideration that can only support me. The trials I undergo +are too great for the most perfect fortitude. I quit a treasure that the +globe in its inexhausted variety never equalled. I retire to a distance, +where months may intervene ere the only intelligence that can give +pleasure to my heart, shall reach me. I shall count however with the +most unshaken security upon my future happiness. Walls of brass, and +bars of iron could not give me that assured peace. + + + +Letter IV + +_Matilda della Colonna to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +Why is it, my friend, that you are determined to fly to so immense +a distance? You call me cruel, you charge me with unfeelingness and +inflexibility, and yet to my prayers you are deaf, to my intreaties you +are inexorable. + +I have satisfied all the claims of decorum. I have fulfilled with rigid +exactness the laws of decency. One advantage you at least gain by the +distance you are so desirous to place between us. My sentiments are less +guarded. Reputation and modesty have fewer claims upon a woman, who can +have no intercourse with her lover but by letter. My feelings are less +restrained. For the anxiety, which distance inspires, awakens all the +tenderness of my nature, and raises a tempest in my soul that will not +be controled. + +Oh, my St. Julian, till this late and lasting separation, I did not know +all the affection I bore you. Ever since you were parted from my aching +eyes, I have not known the serenity of a moment. The image of my friend +has been the constant companion of my waking hours, and has visited me +again in my dreams. The unknown dangers of the ocean swell in my eyes to +ten times their natural magnitude. Fickle and inconstant enemy, how +much I dread thee! Oh wast the lord of all my wishes in safety to the +destined harbour! May all the winds be still! May the tempests forget +their wonted rage! May every guardian power protect his voyage! Open +not, oh ocean, thy relentless bosom to yield him a watery grave! For +once be gentle and auspicious! Listen and grant a lover's prayer! +Restore him to my presence! May the dear sight of him once more refresh +these longing eyes! You will find this letter accompanied with a small +parcel, in which I have inclosed the miniature of myself, which I +have often heard you praise as a much better likeness than the larger +pictures. It will probably afford you some gratification during that +absence of which you so feelingly complain. It will suggest to you those +thoughts upon the subject of our love that have most in them of the calm +and soothing. It will be no unpleasant companion of your reveries, and +may sometimes amuse and cheat your deluded fancy. + + + +Letter V + +_The Answer_ + +_Alicant_ + +I am just arrived at this place, after a tedious and disagreeable +voyage. As we passed along the coast of Barbary we came in sight of many +of the corsairs with which that part of the world is infested. One of +them in particular, of larger burden than the rest, gave us chace, and +for some time we thought ourselves in considerable danger. Our ship +however proved the faster sailer, and quickly carried us out of sight. +Having escaped this danger, and nearly reached the Baleares, we were +overtaken by a tremendous storm. For some days the ship was driven at +the mercy of the winds; and, as the coast of those islands is surrounded +with invisible rocks, our peril was considerable. + +In the midst of danger however my thoughts were full of Matilda. Had the +ocean buried me in its capacious bosom, my last words would have been of +you, my last vows would have been made for your happiness. Had we been +taken by the enemy and carried into slavery, slavery would have had no +terrors, but those which consisted in the additional bars it would have +created between me and the mistress of my heart. It would have been of +little importance whether I had fallen to the lot of a despot, gentle or +severe. It would have separated us for years, perhaps for ever. Could I, +who have been so much afflicted by the separation of a few months, have +endured a punishment like this? That soft intercourse, that wafts the +thoughts of lovers to so vast a distance, that mimics so well an actual +converse, that cheats the weary heart of all its cares, would have been +dissolved for ever. Little then would have been the moment of a few +petty personal considerations; I should not long have survived. + +I only wait at this place to refresh myself for a few days, from a +fatigue so perfectly new to me, and then shall set out with all speed +for Madrid. My Matilda will readily believe that that business which +detains me at so vast a distance from my happiness, will be dispatched +with as much expedition as its nature will admit. I will not sacrifice +to any selfish considerations the interest of my friend, I will not +neglect the minutest exertion by which it may be in my power to serve +his cause. But the moment I have discharged what I owe to him, no power +upon earth shall delay my return, no not for an hour. + +I have seen little as yet of that people of whom I have entertained +so favourable ideas. But what I have seen has perfectly equalled my +expectation. Their carriage indeed is cold and formal, beyond what it is +possible for any man to have a conception of, who has not witnessed it. +But those persons to whom I had letters have received me with the utmost +attention and politeness. Sincerity is visible in all they do, and +constancy in all their modes of thinking. There is not a man among them, +who has once distinguished you, and whose favour it is possible for you +to forfeit without having deserved it. Will not an upright and honest +mind pardon many defects to a virtue like this? + +Oh, my Matilda, shall I recommend to you to remember your St. Julian, to +carry the thoughts of him every where about with you? Shall I make to +you a thousand vows of unalterable attachment? No, best of women, I will +not thus insult the integrity of your heart. I will not thus profane +the purity of our loves. The world in all its treasure has not a second +Matilda, and if it had, my heart is fixed, all the tender sensibilities +of my soul are exhausted. Your St. Julian was not made to change with +every wind. + + + +Letter VI + +_Matilda della Colonna to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +I begin this letter without having yet received any news from you since +you quitted the port of Naples. The time however that was requisite for +that purpose is already more than expired. Oh, my friend, if before +the commencement of this detested voyage, the dangers that attended it +appeared to me in so horrid colours, how think you that I support +them now? My imagination sickens, my poor heart is distracted at the +recollection of them. Why would you encounter so many unnecessary +perils? Why would you fly to so remote a climate? Many a friend could +have promoted equally well the interests of the marquis of Pescara, but +few lives are so valuable as thine. Many a friend could have solicited +this business in the court of Madrid, but believe me, there are few +that can boast that they possessed the heart of a Matilda. Simple and +sincere, I do not give myself away by halves. With a heart full of +tenderness and sensibility, I am affected more, much more than the +generality of my sex, with circumstances favourable or adverse. Ah +cruel, cruel St. Julian, was it for a lover to turn a deaf ear to the +intreaties of a mistress, that lived not but to honour his virtues, and +to sympathize in his felicity? Did I not for you lay aside that triple +delicacy and reserve, in which I prided myself? Were not my sighs and +tears visible and undisguised? Did not my cries pierce the lofty dome of +my paternal mansion, and move all hearts but yours? + +They tell me, my St. Julian, that I am busy to torment myself, that I +invent a thousand imaginary misfortunes. And is this to torment myself +to address my friend in these poor lines? Is this to deceive myself with +unreal evils? Even while Matilda cherishes the fond idea of pouring +out her complaints before him, my St. Julian may be a lifeless corse. +Perhaps he now lies neglected and unburied in the beds of the ocean. +Perhaps he has fallen a prey to barbarous men, more deaf and merciless +than the warring elements. Distracting ideas! And does this head live to +conceive them? Is this hand dull and insensible enough to write them? + +Believe me, my friend, my heart is tender and will easily break. It was +not formed to sustain a series of trials. It was not formed to encounter +a variety of distress. Oh, fly then, hasten to my arms. All those ideas +of form and decency, all the artificial decorums of society that I once +cherished, are dissolved before the darker reflections, the apprehensive +anxieties that your present situation has awakened. Yes, my St. Julian, +come to my arms. The moment you appear to claim me I am yours. Adieu to +the management of my sex. From this moment I commit all my concerns +to your direction. From this moment, your word shall be to me an +irrevocable law, which without reasoning, and without refinement, I will +implicitly obey. + + * * * * * + +I have received your letter. The pleasure it affords me is exquisite in +proportion to my preceding anguish. From the confession of the bravest +of men it now appears that my apprehensions were not wholly unfounded. +And yet upon reviewing what I have written, I almost blush for my +weakness. But it shall not be effaced. Disguise is little becoming +between lovers at so immense a distance. No, my friend, you shall know +all the interest you possess in my heart. I will at least afford you +that consolation amidst the pangs of absence. May heaven be propitious +in what yet remains before you! I will even weary it with my prayers. +May it return you to my arms safe and unhurt, and no other calamity +shall wring from me a murmur, or a sigh! + +One thing however it is necessary I should correct. I do not mean to +accuse you for the voyage you have undertaken, however it may distress +me. In my calmer moments I feel for the motives of it the warmest +approbation. It was the act of disinterested friendship. Every prejudice +of the heart pleaded against it. Love, that passion which reigns without +a rival in your breast, forbad the compliance. It was a virtue worthy +of you. There needed but this to convince me that you were infinitely +superior to the whole race of your fellow mortals. + + + + +Letter VII + +_The Answer_ + +_Buen Retiro_ + +Ten thousand thanks to the most amiable of women for the letter that has +just fallen into my hands. Yes, Matilda, if my heart were pierced on +every side with darts, and my life's blood seemed ready to follow every +one of them, your enchanting epistle would be balm to all my wounds, +would sooth all my cares. Tenderest, gentlest of dispositions, where +ever burned a love whose flame was pure as thine? Where ever was truth +that could vie with the truth of Matilda? Hereafter when the worthless +and the profligate exclaim upon the artifices of thy sex, when the lover +disappointed, wrung with anguish, imprecates curses on the kind, name +but Matilda, and every murmur shall be hushed; name but Matilda, and +the universal voice of nature shall confess that the female form is the +proper residence, the genuine temple of angelic goodness. + +I had upon the whole a most agreeable journey from Alicant to Madrid. It +would be superfluous to describe to a mind so well informed as yours, +the state of the country. You know how thin is its population, and how +indolent is the character of its inhabitants. Satisfied with possessing +the inexhaustible mines of Mexico and Peru, they imagine that the world +was made for them, that the rest of mankind were destined to labour that +they might be maintained in supineness and idleness. The experience of +more than two centuries has not been able to convince them of their +error, and amidst all their poverty, they still retain as much pride +as ever. The country however is naturally luxuriant and delicious; and +there are a considerable number of prospects in the provinces through +which I have passed that will scarcely yield to any that Italy has to +boast. As soon as I arrived at the metropolis I took up my residence at +this place, which is inexpressibly crowded with the residences of the +nobility and grandees. It is indeed one of the most beautiful spots in +nature, as it concentres at once the simplest rusticity with the utmost +elegance of refinement and society. My reception has been in the highest +degree flattering, and I please myself with the idea that I have already +made some progress in the business of the marquis of Pescara. + +You are not insensible that my character, at least in some of its +traits, is not uncongenial to that of a Spaniard. Whether it be owing to +this or any other cause I know not, but I believe never was any man, so +obscure as myself, distinguished in so obliging a manner by the first +personages in the kingdom. In return I derive from their society the +utmost satisfaction. Their lofty notions of honour, their gravity, their +politeness, and their sentimental way of thinking, have something in +them that affords me infinite entertainment and pleasure. Oh, Matilda, +how much more amiable is that character, that carries the principles +of honour and magnanimity to a dangerous extreme, than that which +endeavours to level all distinctions of mankind, and would remove and +confound the eternal barriers of virtue and vice! + +One of the most agreeable connexions I have made is with the duke of +Aranda. The four persons of whom his family is composed, his grace, the +duchess, their son and daughter, are all of them characters extremely +interesting and amiable. The lady Isabella is esteemed the first beauty +of the court of Madrid. The young count is tall, graceful, and manly, +with a fire and expression in his fine blue eyes beyond any thing I +ever saw. He has all the vivacity and enterprize of youth, without the +smallest tincture of libertinism and dissipation. I know not how it is, +but I find myself perfectly unable to describe his character without +running into paradox. He is at once serious and chearful. His +seriousness is so full of enthusiasm and originality, that it is the +most unlike in the world to the cold dogmatism of pedantry, or the +turgid and monotonous stile of the churchman. His chearfulness is not +the gaiety of humour, is not the brilliancy of wit, it is the result of +inexhaustible fancy and invincible spirit. In a word, I never met with +a character that interested me so much at first sight, and were it not +that I am bound by insuperable ties to my native soil, it would be the +first ambition of my heart to form with him the ties of an everlasting +friendship. + +Once more, my Matilda, adieu. You are under the protection of the most +generous of men, and the best of friends. I owe to the marquis of +Pescara, a thousand obligations that can never be compensated. Let it be +thy care thou better half of myself to receive him with that attention +and politeness, which is due to the worth of his character, and the +immensity of his friendship. There is something too sweet and enchanting +in the mild benevolence of Matilda, not to contribute largely to +his happiness. It is in your power, best of women, by the slightest +exertions, to pay him more than I could do by a life of labour. + + + +Letter VIII + +_The Same to the Same_ + + +_Buen Retiro_ + +I little thought during so distressing a period of absence, to have +written you a letter so gay and careless as my last. I confess indeed +the societies of this place afforded me so much entertainment, that in +the midst of generous friendship and unmerited kindness, I almost forgot +the anguish of a lover, and the pains of banishment. + +Alas, how dearly am I destined to pay for the most short-lived +relaxation! Every pleasure is now vanished, and I can scarcely believe +that it ever existed. I enter into the same societies, I frequent the +same scenes, and I wonder what it was that once entertained me. Yes, +Matilda, the enchantment is dissolved. All the gay colours that anon +played upon the objects around me, are fled. Chaos is come again. The +world is become all dreary solitude and impenetrable darkness. I am like +the poor mariner, whose imagination was for a moment caught with the +lofty sound of the thunder, round whom the sheeted lightning gilded the +foaming waves, and who then sinks for ever in the abyss. + +It is now four eternal months, and not one line from the hand of Matilda +has blessed these longing eyes, or cooled my burning brain. Opportunity +after opportunity has slipped away, one moment swelled with hope has +succeeded another, but to no purpose. The mail has not been more +constant to its place of destination than myself. But it was all +disappointment. It was in vain that I raged with unmeaning fury, and +demanded that with imprecation which was not to be found. Every calm was +misery to me. Every tempest tore my tortured heart a thousand ways. For +some time every favourable wind was balm to my soul, and nectar to my +burning frame. But it is over now--. How, how is it that I am to account +for this astonishing silence? Has nature changed her eternal laws, and +is Matilda false? Has she forgotten the poor St. Julian, upon whom she +once bestowed her tenderness with unstinted prodigality? Can that angel +form hide the foulest thoughts? Have those untasted lips abjured their +virgin vows? And has that hand been given to another? Hence green-eyed +jealousy, accursed fiend, with all thy train of black suspicions! No, +thou shall not find a moment's harbour in my breast. I will none of +thee. It were treason to the chastest of hearts, it were sacrilege to +the divinest form that ever visited this lower world, but to admit the +possibility of Matilda's infidelity. + +And where, ah where, shall I take refuge from these horrid thoughts? To +entertain them were depravity were death. I fly from them, and where is +it that I find myself? Surrounded by a thousand furies. Oh, gracious and +immaculate providence, why hast thou opened so many doors to tremendous +mischief? Innumerable accidents of nature may tear her from me for ever. +All the wanton brutalities that history records, and that the minds of +unworthy men can harbour, start up in dreadful array before me. + +Cruel and inflexible Matilda! thou once wert bounteous as the hand of +heaven, wert tender as the new born babe. What is it that has changed +thy disposition to the hard, the wanton, the obdurate? Behold a lover's +tears! Behold how low thou hast sunk him, whom thou once didst dignify +by the sweet and soothing name of _thy friend_! If ever the voice +of anguish found a passage to your heart, if those cheeks were ever +moistened with the drops of sacred pity, oh, hear me now! But I will +address myself to the rocks. I will invoke the knotted oaks and the +savage wolves of the forest. They will not refuse my cry, but Matilda is +deaf as the winds, inexorable as the gaping wave. + +In the state of mind in which I am, you will naturally suppose that I +am full of doubt and irresolution. Twice have I resolved to quit the +kingdom of Spain without delay, and to leave the business of friendship +unfinished. But I thank God these thoughts were of no long duration. No, +Matilda, let me be set up as a mark for the finger of scorn, let me be +appointed by heaven as a victim upon which to exhaust all its arrows. +Let me be miserable, but let me never, never deserve to be so. +Affliction, thou mayest beat upon my heart in one eternal storm! +Trouble, thou mayest tear this frame like a whirlwind! But never shall +all thy terrors shake my constant mind, or teach me to swerve for a +moment from the path I have marked out to myself! All other consolation +may be taken from me, but from the bulwark of innocence and integrity I +will never be separated. + + + +Letter IX + +_The Marquis of Pescara to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +I can never sufficiently thank you for the indefatigable friendship you +have displayed in the whole progress of my Spanish affairs. I have just +received a letter from the first minister of that court, by which I am +convinced that it cannot be long before they be terminated in the most +favourable manner. I scarcely know how, after all the obligations you +have conferred upon me, to intreat that you would complete them, by +paying a visit to Zamora before you quit the kingdom, and putting my +affairs there in some train, which from the negligence incident to a +disputed title, can scarcely fail to be in disorder. + +Believe me there is nothing for which I have more ardently longed, than +to clasp you once again in my arms. The additional procrastination which +this new journey will create, cannot be more afflicting to you than it +is to me. Abridge then, I intreat you, as much as possible, those delays +which are in some degree inevitable, and let me have the agreeable +surprize of holding my St. Julian to my breast before I imagined I had +reason to expect his return. + + + +Letter X + +_The Answer_ + + +_Zamora_ + +My dear lord, + +It is with the utmost pleasure that I have it now in my power to assure +you that your affair is finally closed at the court of Madrid, in a +manner the most advantageous and honourable to your name and family. You +will perceive from the date of this letter that I had no need of the +request you have made in order to remind me of my duty to my friend. +I was no sooner able to quit the capital with propriety, than I +immediately repaired hither. The derangement however of your affairs at +this place is greater than either of us could have imagined, and it +will take a considerable time to reduce them to that order, which shall +render them most beneficial to the peasant, and most productive to the +lord. + +The employment which I find at this place, serves in some degree to +dissipate the anguish of my mind. It is an employment embellished +by innocence, and consecrated by friendship. It is therefore of all +pursuits that which has the greatest tendency to lull the sense of +misery. + +Rinaldo, I had drawn the pangs of absence with no flattering pencil. I +had expressed them in the most harsh and aggravated colours. But dark +and gloomy as were the prognostics I had formed to myself, they, alas, +were but shadows of what was reserved for me. The event laughs to scorn +the conceptions I had entertained. Explain to me, best, most faithful of +friends, for you only can, what dark and portentous meaning is concealed +beneath the silence of Matilda. So far from your present epistle +assisting the conjectures of my madding brain, it bewilders me more +than ever. My friend dates his letter from the very place in which she +resides, and yet by not a single word does he inform me how, and what +she is. + +It is now six tedious months since a single line has reached me from her +hand. I have expostulated with the voice of apprehension, with the voice +of agony, but to no purpose. Had it not been for the tenfold obligation +in which I am bound to the best of friends, I had long, very long ere +this, deserted the kingdom of Spain for ever. The concerns of no man +upon earth, but those of my Rinaldo, could have detained me. Had they +related to myself alone, I had not wasted a thought on them. And yet +here I am at a greater distance from the centre of my solicitude than +ever. + +You, my friend, know not the exquisite and inexpressible anguish of a +mind, in doubt about that in which he is most interested. I have not the +most solitary and slender clue to guide me through the labyrinth. All +the events, all the calamities that may have overtaken me, are alike +probable and improbable, and there is not one of them that I can invent, +which can possibly have escaped the knowledge of that friend, into whose +hands I committed my all. Sickness, infidelity, death itself, all the +misfortunes to which humanity is heir, are alike certain and palpable. + +Oh, my Rinaldo, it was a most ill-judged and mistaken indulgence, that +led you to suppress the story of my disaster. Give me to know it. It may +be distressful, it may be tremendous. But be it as it will, there is +not a misfortune in the whole catalogue of human woes, the knowledge of +which would not be elysium to what I suffer. To be told the whole is +to know the worst. Time is the medicine of every anguish. There is no +malady incident to a conscious being, which if it does not annihilate +his existence, does not, after having attained a crisis, insensibly fall +away and dissolve. But apprehension, apprehension is hell itself. It +is infinite as the range of possibility. It is immortal as the mind +in which it takes up its residence. It gains ground every moment. +Compounded as it is of hope and fear, there is not a moment in which +it does not plume the wings of expectation. It prepares for itself +incessant, eternal disappointment. It grows for ever. At first it may +be trifling and insignificant, but anon it swells its giant limbs, and +hides its head among the clouds. + +Lost as I am to the fate, the character, the present dispositions of +Matilda, I have now no prop to lean upon but you. Upon you I place an +unshaken confidence. In your fidelity I can never be deceived. I owe you +greater obligations than ever man received from man before. When I was +forlorn and deserted by all the world, it was then you flew to save me. +You left the blandishments that have most power over the unsuspecting +mind of youth, you left the down of luxury, to search me out. It was you +that saved my life in the forest of Leontini. They were your generous +offers that afforded me the first specimens of that benevolence and +friendship, which restored me from the annihilation into which I was +plunged, to an existence more pleasant and happy than I had yet known. + +Rinaldo, I committed to your custody a jewel more precious than all the +treasures of the east. I have lost, I am deprived of her. Where shall I +seek her? In what situation, under what character shall I discover her? +Believe me, I have not in all the paroxysms of grief, entertained a +doubt of you. I have not for a moment suffered an expression of blame to +escape my lips. But may I not at least know from you, what it is that +has effected this strange alteration, to what am I to trust, and what is +the fate that I am to expect for the remainder of an existence of which +I am already weary? + +Yes, my dear marquis, life is now a burden to me. There is nothing but +the dear business of friendship, and the employment of disinterested +affection that could make it supportable. Accept at least this last +exertion of your St. Julian. His last vows shall be breathed for your +happiness. Fate, do what thou wilt me, but shower down thy choicest +blessings on my friend! Whatever thou deniest to my sincere exertions in +the cause of rectitude, bestow a double portion upon that artless and +ingenuous youth, who, however misguided for a moment, has founded even +upon the basis of error, a generous return and an heroic resolution, +which the most permanent exertions of spotless virtue scarce can equal! + + + +Letter XI + +_Signor Hippolito Borelli to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Palermo_ + +My dear lord, + +I have often heard it repeated as an observation of sagacity and +experience, that when one friend has a piece of disagreeable +intelligence to disclose to another, it is better to describe it +directly, and in simple terms, than to introduce it with that kind of +periphrasis and circumlocution, which oftener tends to excite a vague +and impatient horror in the reader, than to prepare him to bear his +misfortune with decency and fortitude. There are however no rules of +this kind that do not admit of exceptions, and I am too apprehensive +that the subject of my present letter may be classed among those +exceptions. St. Julian, I have a tale of horror to unfold! Lay down the +fatal scrowl at this place, and collect all the dignity and resolution +of your mind. You will stand in need of it. Fertile and ingenious as +your imagination often is in tormenting itself, I will defy you to +conceive an event more big with horror, more baleful and tremendous in +all its consequences. + +My friend, I have taken up my pen twenty times, and laid it down as +often again, uncertain in what manner to break my intelligence, and +where I ought to begin. I have been undetermined whether to write to you +at all, or to leave you to learn the disaster and your fate, as fortune +shall direct. It is an ungrateful and unpleasant task. Numbers would +exclaim upon it as imprudence and folly. I might at least suspend the +consummation of your affliction a little longer, and leave you a little +longer to the enjoyment of a deceitful repose. + +But I am terrified at the apprehension of how this news may overtake you +at last. I have always considered the count de St. Julian as one of the +most amiable of mankind. I have looked up to him as a model of virtue, +and I have exulted that I had the honour to be of the same species with +so fair a fame, and so true a heart. I would willingly lighten to a +man so excellent the load of calamity. Why is it, that heaven in +the mysteriousness of its providence, so often visits with superior +affliction, the noblest of her sons? I should be truly sorry, that my +friend should act in a manner unworthy of the tenor of his conduct, and +the exaltation of his character. You are now, my lord at a distance. You +have time to revolve the various circumstances of your condition, and to +fix with the coolest and most mature deliberation the conduct you shall +determine to hold. + +I remember in how pathetic a manner you complained, in the last letter +I received from you before you quitted Italy, of the horrors of +banishment. Little did my friend then know the additional horrors that +fate had in store for him. Two persons there were whom you loved above +all the world, in whom you placed the most unbounded confidence. My poor +friend would never have left Italy but to oblige his Rinaldo, would +never have quitted the daughter of the duke of Benevento, if he could +not have intrusted her to the custody of his Rinaldo. What then will be +his astonishment when he learns that two months have now elapsed since +the heiress of this illustrious house has assumed the title of the +marchioness of Pescara? + +Since this extraordinary news first reached me, I have employed some +pains to discover the means by which an event so surprising has been +effected. I have hitherto however met with a very partial success. There +hangs over it all the darkness of mystery, and all the cowardice of +guilt. There cannot be any doubt that that friend, whom for so long a +time you cherished in your bosom, has proved the most detestable of +villains, the blot and the deformity of the human character. How far the +marchioness has been involved in his guilt, I am not able to ascertain. +Surely however the fickleness and inconstancy of her conduct cannot +be unstained with the pollution of depravity. After the most diligent +search I have learned a report, which was at that time faintly whispered +at Cosenza, that you were upon the point of marriage with the only +daughter of the duke of Aranda. Whether any inferences can be built upon +so trivial a foundation I am totally ignorant. + +But might I be permitted to advise you, you ought to cast these base and +dishonourable characters from your heart for ever. The marquis is surely +unworthy of your sword. He ought not to die, but in a manner deeply +stamped with the infamy in which he has lived. I will not pretend to +alledge to a person so thoroughly master of every question of this +kind, how poor and inadequate is such a revenge: what a barbarous and +unmeaning custom it is, that thus puts the life of the innocent and +injured in the scale with that of the destroyer, and leaves the decision +of immutable differences to skill, to fortune, and a thousand trivial +and contemptible circumstances. You are not to be told how much more +there is of true heroism in refusing than in giving a challenge, in +bearing an injury with superiority and virtuous fortitude, than in +engaging in a Gothic and savage revenge. + +It is not easy perhaps to find a woman, deserving enough to be united +for life to the fate of my friend. Certain I am, if I may be permitted +to deliver my sentiments, there is a levity and folly conspicuous in the +temper of her you have lost, that renders her unworthy of being lamented +by a man of discernment and sobriety. What to desert without management +and without regret, one to whom she had vowed eternal constancy, a man, +of whose amiable character, and glorious qualities she had so many +opportunities of being convinced? Oh, shame where is thy blush? If +iniquity like this, walks the world with impunity, where is the vice +that shall be branded with infamy, to deter the most daring and +profligate offender? Let us state the transaction in a light the most +favourable to the fair inconstant. What thin veil, what paltry arts +were employed by this mighty politician to confound and mislead an +understanding, clear and penetrating upon all other subjects, blind and +feeble only upon that in which the happiness of her life was involved? + +My St. Julian, the exertion of that fortitude with which nature has so +richly endowed you, was never so completely called for in any other +instance. This is the crisis of your life. This is the very tide, which +accordingly as it is improved or neglected, will give a colour to all +your future story. Let not that amiable man, who has found the art of +introducing heroism into common life, and dignifying the most trivial +circumstances by the sublimity and refinedness of his sentiments, now, +in the most important affair, sink below the common level. Now is the +time to display the true greatness of your mind. Now is the time to +prove the consistency of your character. + +A mind, destitute of resources, and unendowed with that elasticity which +is the badge of an immortal nature, when placed in your circumstances, +might probably sink into dereliction and despair. Here in the moral and +useful point of view would be placed the termination of their course. +What a different prospect does the future life of my St. Julian suggest +to me? I see him rising superior to misfortune. I see him refined +like silver from, the furnace. His affections and his thoughts, being +detached by calamity from all consideration of self, he lays out his +exertions in acts of benevolence. His life is one tissue of sympathy and +compassion. He is an extensive benefit to mankind. His influence, like +that of the sun, cheers the hopeless, and illuminates the desolate. How +necessary are such characters as these, to soften the rigour of the +sublunary scene, and to stamp an impression of dignity on the degeneracy +of the human character? + + + +Letter XII [A] + +_Matilda della Colonna to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +I rise from a bed, which you have surrounded with the severest +misfortunes, to address myself to you in this billet. It is in vain, +that in conformity to the dull round of custom, I seek the couch of +repose, sleep is for ever fled from my eyes. I seek it on every side, +but on swift wings it flits far, very far, from me. It is now the +dead of night. All eyes are closed but mine. The senses of all other +creatures through the universe of God, are steeped in forgetfulness. Oh, +sweet, oblivious power, when wilt thou come to my assistance, when wilt +thou shed thy poppies upon this distracted head! + +There was a time, when no human creature was so happy as the now forlorn +Matilda. My days were full of gaiety and innocence. My thoughts were +void of guile, and I imagined all around me artless as myself. I was by +nature indeed weak and timid, trembling at every leaf, shuddering with +apprehension of the lightest danger. But I had a protector generous +and brave, that spread his arms over me, like the wide branches of a +venerable oak, and round whom I clung, like ivy on the trunk. Why didst +thou come, like a cold and murderous blight, to blast all my hopes of +happiness, and to shatter my mellow hangings? + +I have often told you that my heart was not tough and inflexible, to +be played upon with a thousand experiments, and encounter a thousand +trials. But you would not believe me. You could not think my frame +was so brittle and tender, and my heart so easily broken. Inexorable, +incredulous man! you shall not be long in doubt. You shall soon perceive +that I may not endure much more. + +[Footnote A: This letter was written several months earlier than the +preceding, but was intercepted by the marquis of Pescara.] + +How could you deceive me so entirely? I loved you with the sincerest +affection. I thought you artless as truth, as free from vice and folly +as etherial spirits. When your hypocrisy was the most consummate, your +countenance had then in my eye, most the air of innocence. Your visage +was clear and open as the day. But it was a cloak for the blackest +thoughts and the most complicated designs. You stole upon me unprepared, +you found all the avenues to my heart, and you made yourself the arbiter +of my happiness before I was aware. + +You hear me, thou arch impostor! There are punishments reserved for +those, who undermine the peace of virtue, and steal away the tranquility +of innocence. This is thy day. Now thou laughest at all my calamity, +thou mockest all my anguish. But do not think that thy triumph shall be +for ever. That thought would be fond and false as mine have been. The +empire of rectitude shall one day be vindicated. Matilda shall one day +rise above thee. + +But perhaps, St. Julian, it is not yet too late. The door is yet open to +thy return. My claim upon thy heart is prior, better every way than +that of donna Isabella. Leave her as you left me. It will cost you a +repentance less severe. The wounds you have inflicted may yet be healed. +The mischiefs you have caused are not yet irreparable. These fond arms +are open to receive you. To this unresentful bosom you may return in +safety. But remember, I intreat you, the opportunity will be of no long +duration. Every moment is winged with fate. A little more hesitation, +and the irrevocable knot is tied, and Spain will claim you for her own. +A little more delay, and this fond credulous heart, that yet exerts +itself in a few vain struggles, will rest in peace, will crumble into +dust, and no longer be sensible to the misery that devours it. Dear, +long expected moment, speed thy flight! To how many more calamitous days +must these eyes be witness? In how many more nights must they wander +through a material darkness, that is indeed meridian splendour, when +compared with the gloom in which my mind is involved? + +Do not imagine that I have been easily persuaded of the truth of your +infidelity. I have not indulged to levity and credulity. I have heaped +evidence upon evidence. I have resisted the proofs that offered on +every side, till I have become liable to the character of stupid and +insensible. Would it were possible for me to be deceived! But no, the +delusion is vanished. I doubt, I hesitate, no longer. All without is +certainty, and all within is unmingled wretchedness. + + * * * * * + +St. Julian, I once again resume my pen. I was willing you should be +acquainted with all the distress and softness of my heart. I was willing +to furnish you with every motive to redeem the character of a man, +before it were too late. Do not however think me incapable of a spirited +and a steady resolution. It were easy for me to address a letter to the +family of Aranda, I might describe to them all my wrong, and prevent +that dreaded union, the thought of which distresses me. My letter might +probably arrive before the mischief were irretrievable. It is not +likely that so illustrious a house, however they may have previously +condescended to the speciousness of your qualities, would persist in +their design in the face of so cogent objections. But I am not capable +of so weak and poor spirited a revenge. + +Return, my lord, yet return to her you have deserted. Let your return be +voluntary, and it shall be welcome as the light of day to these sad and +weeping eyes, and it shall be dear and precious to my soul, as the ruddy +drops that warm my heart. But I will not force an unwilling victim. Such +a prize would be unworthy of the artless and constant spirit of Matilda. +Such a husband would be the bane of my peace, and the curse of my +hapless days. That he were the once loved St. Julian, would but +aggravate the distress, and rankle the arrow. It would continually +remind me of the dear prospects, and the fond expectations I had once +formed, without having the smallest tendency to gratify them. + + + +Letter XIII + +_The Marquis of Pescara to the Marquis of San Severino_ + +_Cosenza_ + +My dear lord, + +Why is it that a heart feeble and unheroic as mine, should be destined +to encounter so many temptations? I might have passed through the +world honourable and immaculate, had circumstances been a little more +propitious. As it is, I shall probably descend to the grave with a +character, at least among the scrupulous and the honest, reproachful and +scandalous. Now this I can never account for. My heart is a stranger to +all the dark and malignant passions. I am not cursed with an unbounded +ambition. I am a stranger to inexorable hate and fell revenge. I aim at +happiness and gratification. But if it were in my power I would have all +my fellow-creatures happy as myself. + +Why is the fair Matilda so incomparably beautiful and so inexpressibly +attractive? Had her temper been less sweet and undesigning, had her +understanding been less delicate and refined, had not the graces dwelt +upon those pouting lips, my heart had been sound and unhurt to this +very hour. But to see her every day, to converse with her at all +opportunities, to be regarded by her as her only friend and chosen +protector, tell me, ye gods, what heart, that was not perfectly +invulnerable, that was not totally impregnated with the waters of the +Styx, could have come off victorious from trials like these? + +And yet, my dear Ferdinand, to see the distress of the lovely Matilda, +to see her bosom heave with anguish, and her eyes suffused with tears, +to hear the heart-rending sighs continually bursting from her, in spite +of the fancied resolution, and the sweet pride that fill her soul, how +callous, how void of feeling and sympathy ought the man to be, in whom +objects like these can call up no relentings? Ah, my lord, when I +observe how her tender frame is shaken with misfortune, I am sometimes +ready to apprehend that it totters to its fall, that it is impossible +she should survive the struggling, tumultuous passions that rage within +her. What a glorious prize would then be lost? What would then become +of all the deep contrivances, the mighty politics, that your friendship +suggested? + +And yet, so wayward is my fate, those very objects which might be +expected to awaken the sincerest penitence and regret, now only serve to +give new strength to the passion that devours me, and to make my flame +surmount every obstacle that can oppose its progress. Yes, Matilda, +thou must be mine. Heaven and earth cannot now overturn the irrevocable +decree. It has been the incessant object of my attention to throw in +those artful baits which might best divert the current of her soul. I +have assiduously inflamed her resentment to the highest pitch, and I +flatter myself that I have made some progress towards the concluding +stroke. + +There is no situation in which we stand in greater need of sympathy and +consolation, than in those moments of forlornness and desertion to which +the poor Matilda imagines herself reduced. At these times my friendship +has been most unwearied in its exertions. I have answered sigh with +sigh, and mingled my tears with those of the lovely mourner. Believe me, +Ferdinand, this has not been entirely affectation and hypocrisy. There +is a vein of sensibility in the human heart, that will not permit us to +behold an artless and an innocent distress, at least when surrounded +with all the charms of beauty, without feeling our souls involuntarily +dilated, and our eyes unexpectedly swimming in tears. + +But I have another source of disquietude which is unaccompanied with any +alleviating circumstances. A letter from the count de St. Julian to his +Matilda has just been conveyed to my hands. It is filled with the most +affecting and tender complaints of her silence that can possibly be +imagined. He has too exalted a notion of the fair charmer to attribute +this to lightness and inconstancy. His inventive fancy conjures up a +thousand horrid phantoms, and surrounds the mistress of his soul with +I know not what imaginary calamities. But that passage of the whole +epistle that overwhelms me most, is one, in which, in spite of all the +anguish of his mind, in spite of appearances, he expresses the most +unsuspecting confidence in his false and treacherous friend. He still +recommends me to his Matilda as her best protector and surest guardian. +Ah, my St. Julian, how didst thou deserve to be cursed with an +associate, hollow and deceitful as Rinaldo? + +Yes, marquis, in spite of all the arguments you have alledged to me upon +the subject, I still regard my first and youthful friend, as the most +exalted and the foremost of human beings. You may talk of pride, vanity, +and stoicism, the heart that listens to the imputation feels its +sophistry. It is not vanity, for his virtuous actions are rather +studiously hid from observation, than ostentatiously displayed. Is it +pride? It is a pride that constitutes the truest dignity. It is a pride +worthy of heroes and of gods. What analogy does it bear with the pride +of avarice, and the pride of rank; how is it similar to the haughty +meanness of patronage, and the insatiable cravings of ambition? + +But I must not indulge to reflexions like these. It is to no purpose for +the disinterested tenderness, the unstoical affection of my St. Julian +to start up in array before me. Hence remorse, and all her kindred +passions! I am cruel, obdurate, and unrelenting. Yes, most amiable of +men, you might as well address your cries to the senseless rocks. You +might as well hope with your eloquent and soft complainings to persuade +the crocodile that was ready to devour you. I have passed the Rubicon. +I have taken the irrevocable step. It is too late, ah, much too late to +retreat! + + + +Letter XIV + +_The Marquis of San Severino to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Naples_ + +Joy, uninterrupted, immortal joy to my dear Rinaldo. May all your days +be winged with triumph, and all your nights be rapture. Believe me, I +feel the sincerest congratulation upon the desired event of your long +expected marriage. My lord, you have completed an action that deserves +to be recorded in eternal brass. Why should politics be confined to the +negotiations of ambassadors, and the cabinets of princes? I have often +revolved the question, and by all that is sacred I can see no reason for +it. Is it natural that the unanimating and phlegmatic transactions of +a court should engage a more unwearied attention, awaken a brighter +invention, or incite a more arduous pursuit than those of love? When +beauty solicits the appetite, when the most ravishing tenderness and +susceptibility attract the affections, it is then that the heart is most +distracted and regardless, and the head least fertile in artifice and +stratagem. + +My joy is the more sincere, as I was compelled repeatedly to doubt of +your perseverance. What sense was there in that boyish remorse, and +those idle self-reproaches, in which you frequently employed yourself? +No, Rinaldo, a man ought never to enter upon an heroical and arduous +undertaking without being perfectly composed, and absolutely sure of +himself. What a pitiful figure would my friend have made, had he stopped +in the midway, and let go the angelic prize when it was already within +his grasp? If it had not been for my repeated exhortations, if I had +not watched over you like your guardian genius, would you have been now +flushed with success, and crowned with unfading laurel? + + + +Letter XV + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + + +_Livorno_ + +My lord, + +I hoped before this time to have presented before you the form of +that injured friend, which, if your heart is not yet callous to every +impression, must be more blasting to your sight, than all the chimeras +that can be conjured up by a terrified imagination, or a guilty +conscience. I no sooner received the accursed intelligence at Zamora, +than I flew with the speed of lightning. I permitted no consideration +upon earth to delay me till I arrived at Alicant. But the sea was less +favourable to the impatience of my spirit. I set sail in a boisterous +and unpromising season. I have been long tossed about at the mercy of +the ocean. I thank God, after having a thousand times despaired of it, +that I have at length set foot in a port of Italy. It is distant +indeed, but the ardour of my purpose were sufficient to cut short all +intermission. + +My lord, I trusted you as my own soul. No consideration could have moved +me to entertain a moment's suspicion of your fidelity. I placed in your +hand the most important pledge it ever was my fortune to possess. I +employed no guard. I opened to you an unsuspecting bosom, and you have +stung me to the heart. I gave you the widest opportunity, and it is +through my weak and groundless confidence that you have reached me. You +have employed without scruple all those advantages it put into your +hands. You have undermined me at your ease. I left you to protect my +life's blood, my heart of heart, from every attack, to preserve the +singleness of her affections, and the constancy of her attachment. It +was yours to have breathed into her ear the sighs of St. Julian. It was +yours ambitiously to expatiate upon his amiable qualities. You were +every day to have added fuel to the flame. You were to have presented +Matilda to my arms, more beautiful, more tender, more kind, than she had +ever appeared. From this moment then, let the name of trust be a by-word +for the profligate to scoff at! Let the epithet of friend be a mildew to +the chaste and uncorrupted ear! Let mutual confidence be banished from +the earth, and men, more savage than the brute, devour each other! + +Was it possible, my lord, that you should dream, that the benefits you +had formerly conferred upon me, could deprive my resentment of all its +sting under the present provocation! If you did, believe me, you were +most egregiously mistaken. It is true I owed you much, and heaven +has not cursed me with a heart of steel. What bounds did I set to my +gratitude? I left my natal shore, I braved all the dangers of the ocean, +I fought in foreign climes the power of requital. I fondly imagined that +I could never discharge so vast obligations. But the invention of your +lordship is more fertile than mine. You have found the means to blot +them in a moment. Yes, my lord, from henceforth all contract between +us is canceled. You have set us right upon our first foundations. +Friendship, affection, pity, I give you to the winds! Come to my bosom, +unmixed malignity, black-boiling revenge! You are now the only inmates +welcome to my heart. + +Oh, Rinaldo, that character once so dear to me, that youth over whose +opening inclinations I watched with so unremitting care, is it you that +are the author of so severe a misfortune? I held you to my breast. I +poured upon your head all that magazine of affection and tenderness, +with which heaven had dowered me. Never did one man so ardently love +another. Never did one man interest himself so much in another's truth +and virtue, in another's peace and happiness. I formed you for heroism. +I cultivated those features in your character which might have made +you an ornament to your country and mankind. I strewed your path with +flowers, I made the couch beneath you violets and roses. Hear me, yet +hear me! Learn to perceive all the magnitude of your crime. You have +murdered your friend. You have wounded him in the tenderest part. You +have seduced the purest innocence and the most unexampled truth. For +is it possible that Matilda, erewhile the pattern of every spotless +excellence, could have been a party in the black design? + +But it is no longer time for the mildness of censure and the sobriety of +reproach. I would utter myself in the fierce and unqualified language of +invective. You have sinned beyond redemption. I would speak daggers. +I would wring blood from your heart at every word. But no; I will not +waste myself in angry words. I will not indulge to the bitterness of +opprobrium. Nothing but the anguish of my soul should have wrung from +me these solitary lines. Nothing but the fear of not surviving to my +revenge, should have prevented me from forestalling them in person.--I +will meet thee at Cerenzo. + + + +Letter XVI + +_The Marquis of San Severino to the Marchioness of Pescara_ + +_Cerenzo_ + +Madam, + +I am truly sorry that it falls to my lot to communicate to you the +distressing tidings with which it is perfectly necessary you should be +acquainted. The marquis, your husband, and my most dear friend, has +this morning fallen in a duel at this place. I am afraid it will be no +alleviation of the unfortunate intelligence, if I add, that the hand by +which he fell, was that of the count de St. Julian. + +His lordship left Cosenza, I understand, with the declared intention of +honouring me with a visit at Naples. He accordingly arrived at my palace +in the evening of the second day after he left you. He there laid before +me a letter he had received from the count, from which it appeared that +the misunderstanding was owing to a rivalship of no recent date in the +affections of your ladyship. It is not my business to enter into the +merits of the dispute. You, madam, are doubtless too well acquainted +with the laws of modern honour, pernicious in many instances, and which +have proved so fatal to the valuable life of the marquis, not to know +that the intended rencounter, circumstanced as it was, could not +possibly have been prevented. + +As we were informed that the count de St. Julian was detained by +sickness at Livorno, we continued two days longer at Naples before we +set out for our place of destination at Cerenzo. We arrived there on the +evening of the twenty-third, and the count de St. Julian the next day +at noon. We were soon after waited upon in form by signor Hippolito +Borelli, who had been a fellow student with each of these young noblemen +at the university of Palermo. He requested an interview with me, and +informing me that he attended the count in quality of second, we began +to adjust those minutiae, which are usually referred to the decision of +those who exercise that character. + +The count and the marquis had fixed their quarters at the two principal +hotels of this place. Of consequence there was no sort of intercourse +between them during the remainder of the day. In the evening we were +attended by the baron of St. Angelo, who had heard by chance of our +arrival. We spent the remainder of the day in much gaiety, and I +never saw the marquis of Pescara exert himself more, or display more +collectedness and humour, than upon this occasion. After we separated, +however, he appeared melancholy and exhausted. He was fatigued with the +repeated journies he had performed, and after having walked up and down +the room, for some time, in profound thought, he retired pretty early to +his chamber. + +The next day at six in the morning we repaired according to appointment +to the ramparts. We found the count de St. Julian and his friend arrived +before us. As we approached, the marquis made a slight congee to the +count, which was not returned by the other. "My lord," cried the +marquis,--"Stop," replied his antagonist, in a severe and impatient +tone. "This is no time for discussions. It was not that purpose that +brought me hither." My lord of Pescara appeared somewhat hurt at so +peremptory and unceremonious a rejoinder, but presently recovered +himself. Each party then took his ground, and they fired their pistols +without any other effect, than the shoulder of the count being somewhat +grazed by one of the balls. + +Signor Borelli and myself now interposed, and endeavoured to compromise +the affair. Our attempt however presently appeared perfectly fruitless. +Both parties were determined to proceed to further action. The marquis, +who at first had been perfectly calm, was now too impatient and eager to +admit of a moment's delay. The count, who had then appeared agitated and +disturbed, now assumed a collected air, a ferociousness and intrepidity, +which, though it seemed to wait an opportunity of displaying itself, was +deaf as the winds, and immoveable as the roots of Vesuvius. + +They now drew their swords. The passes of both were for some time +rendered ineffectual. But at length the marquis, from the ardour of his +temper seemed to lay aside his guard, and the count de St. Julian, by +a sudden thrust, run his antagonist through the body. The marquis +immediately fell, and having uttered one groan, he expired. The sword +entered at the left breast, and proceeded immediately to the heart. + +The count, instead of appearing at all disturbed at this event, or +attempting to embrace the opportunity of flight, advanced immediately +towards the body, and bending over it, seemed to survey its traits with +the profoundest attention. The surgeon who had attended, came up at +this instant, but presently perceived that his art was become totally +useless. During however this short examination, the count de St. Julian +recovered from his reverie, and addressing himself to me, "My lord," +said he, "I shall not attempt to fly from the laws of my country. I am +indeed the challenger, but I have done nothing, but upon the matures! +deliberation, and I shall at all times be ready to answer my conduct." +Though I considered this mode of proceeding as extremely singular I did +not however think it became me, as the friend of the marquis of Pescara, +to oppose his resolution. He has accordingly entered into a recognizance +before the gonfaloniere, to appear at a proper time to take his trial at +the city of Naples. + +Madam, I thought it my duty to be thus minute in relating the +particulars of this unfortunate affair. I shall not descend to any +animadversions upon the conduct and language of the count de St. Julian. +They will come to be examined and decided upon in a proper place. In the +mean time permit me to offer my sincerest condolences upon the loss you +have sustained in the death of my amiable friend. If it be in my power +to be of service to your ladyship, with respect to the funeral, or any +other incidental affairs, you may believe that I shall account it my +greatest honour to alleviate in any degree the misfortune you have +suffered. With the sincerest wishes for the welfare of yourself and your +amiable son, I have the honour to be, + +Madam, + +Your most obedient and very faithful servant, + +The marquis of San Severino. + + + +Letter XVII + +_The Answer_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +My lord, + +You were not mistaken when you supposed that the subject of your +letter would both afflict and surprize me in the extremest degree. The +unfortunate event to which it principally relates, is such as cannot but +affect me nearly. And separate from this, there is a veil of mystery +that hangs over the horrid tale, behind which I dare not pry, but with +the most trembling anxiety, but which will probably in a very short time +be totally removed. + +Your lordship, I am afraid, is but too well acquainted with the history +of the correspondence between myself and my deceased lord. I was given +to understand that the count de St. Julian was married to the daughter +of the duke of Aranda. I thought I had but too decisive evidence of the +veracity of the story. And you, my lord, I remember, were one of the +witnesses by which it was confirmed. Yet how is this to be reconciled +with the present catastrophe? Can I suppose that the count, after being +settled in Spain, should have deserted these connexions, in order +to come over again to that country in which he had forfeited all +pretensions to character and reputation, and to commence a quarrel so +unjust and absurd, with the man to whom he was bound by so numerous +obligations? + +My lord, I have revolved all the circumstances that are communicated +to me in your alarming letter. The oftener I peruse it, and the more +maturely I consider them, the more does it appear that the count de St. +Julian has all the manners of conscious innocence and injured truth. It +is impossible for an impostor to have acted throughout with an air so +intrepid and superior. Your lordship's account, so far as it relates to +the marquis, is probably the account of a friend, but it is impossible +not to perceive, that his behaviour derives no advantage from being +contrasted with that of his antagonist. + +You will readily believe, that it has cost me many efforts to assemble +all these thoughts, and to deliver these reasonings in so connected a +manner. At first my prejudices against the poor and unprotected stranger +were so deeply rooted, that I had no suspicion of their injustice. I +regarded the whole as a dream; I considered every circumstance as beyond +the cognizance of reason, and founded entirely in madness and frenzy. +I painted to myself the count de St. Julian, whom I had known for a +character so tender and sincere, as urged along with all the stings of +guilt, and agitated with all the furies of remorse. I at once pitied his +sufferings, and lamented their mortal and destructive consequences. I +regarded yourself and every person concerned in the melancholy affair, +as actuated by the same irrational spirit, and united to overwhelm one +poor, trembling, and defenceless woman. + +But the delusion was of no long continuance. I soon perceived that it +was impossible for a maniac to be suffered to proceed to so horrid +extremities. I perceived in every thing that related to the count, +a spirit very different from that of frenzy. It is thus that I have +plunged from uncertainty to uncertainty. From adopting a solution wild +and absurd, I am thrown back upon a darkness still more fearful, and am +lost in conjectures of the most tremendous nature. + +And where is it that I am obliged to refer my timid enquiries? Alas, I +have no friend upon whose bosom to support myself, I have no relation to +interest in my cause. I am forlorn, forsaken and desolate. By nature +not formed for defence, not braced to encounter the storms of calamity, +where shall I hide my unprotected head? Forgive me, my lord, if I am +mistaken; pardon the ravings of a distracted mind. It is possible I am +obliged to recur to him from whom all my misfortunes took their source, +who has guided unseen all those movements to which this poor and broken +heart is the sacrifice. Perhaps the words that now flow from my pen, +are directed to the disturber of my peace, the interceptor of all that +happiness most congenial to my heart, the murderer of my husband! + +Where, in the mean time, where is this countess, this dreaded rival? +You, my lord, have perhaps ere this time seen her. Tell me, what are +those ineffable charms that seduced a heart which was once so constant? +St. Julian was never mercenary, and I have a fortune that might have +filled out his most unbounded wishes. What is that strange fascination, +what that indescribable enchantment, that sunk a character so glorious, +that libertines venerated, and the friends of virtue adored, to a depth +so low and irretrievable? I have thought much of it, I have turned it +every way in my mind, but I can never understand it. The more I reflect +the further I am bewildered. + +But whither am I wandering? What strange passion is it, that I so +carefully suppressed, over which I so loudly triumphed, that now bursts +its limits? How fatal and deplorable is that train of circumstances, +that brings a name, that was once inscribed on my heart, to my +remembrance, accompanied with attendants, that awaken all my tenderness, +and breathe new life into each forgotten endearment! Is it for me, a +wife, a mother, to entertain these guilty thoughts? And can they respect +him by whose fatal hand my husband fell? How low is the once spotless +Matilda della Colonna sunk! + +But I will not give way to this dereliction and despair. I think my +heart is not made of impenetrable stuff. I think I cannot long survive +afflictions thus complicated, and trials thus severe. But so long as I +remain in this world of calamity, I will endeavour to act in a manner +not unworthy of myself. I will not disgrace the race from which I +sprung. Whatever others may do, I will not dishonour the family to which +I am united. I may be miserable, but I will not be guilty. I may be a +monument of anguish, but I will not be an example of degeneracy. + +Gracious heaven! if I have been deceived, what a train of artifice and +fraud rushes upon my terrified recollection? How carefully have all my +passions, in the unguarded hour of anguish and misery, been wrought and +played upon? All the feelings of a simple and undissembling mind have +been roused by turns, to excite me to a deed, from which rectitude +starts back with horror, which integrity blushes to look on! And have I +been this poor and abject tool in the hand of villains? And are there +hearts cool and obdurate enough, to watch all the trembling starts of +wretchedness, to seduce the heart that has given itself up to despair? +Can they look on with frigid insensibility, can they behold distress +with no other eye but that of interest, with no other watch but that +which discovers how it may be disgraced for ever? Oh, wretched Matilda! +whither, whither hast thou been plunged! + +My memory is up in arms. I cannot now imagine how I was induced to +so decisive and adventurous a step. But I was full of the anguish of +disappointment, and the resentment of despair. How assiduously was I +comforted? What sympathy, what angelic tenderness seemed to flow from +the lips of him, in whose heart perhaps there dwelt every dishonourable +and unsated passion? It was all a chaos. My heart was tumultuous hurry, +without leisure for retrospect, without a moment for deliberation. And +do I dare to excuse myself? Was I not guilty, unpardonably guilty? Oh, +a mind that knew St. Julian should have waited for ages, should have +revolved every circumstance a thousand times, should have disbelieved +even the evidence of sense, and the demonstration of eternal truth! +Accursed precipitation! Most wicked speed! No, I have not suffered half +what I have deserved. Heap horrors on me, thou dreadful dispenser of +avenging providence! I will not complain. I will expire in the midst of +agonies without a groan! + +But these thoughts must be banished from my heart for ever. Wretched as +I am, I am not permitted the consolation of penitence, I am not free to +accuse and torment myself. No, that step has been taken which can never +be repealed. The marquis of Pescara was my husband, and whatever were +his true character, I will not crush his memory and his fame. I have, +I fear, unadvisedly entered into connexions, and entailed upon myself +duties. But these connexions shall now be sacred; these duties shall be +discharged to the minutest tittle. Oh, poor and unprotected orphan, thou +art cast upon the world without a friend! But thou shalt never want the +assiduity of a mother. Thou, at least, are guileless and innocent. +Thou shalt be my only companion. To watch over thee shall be the sole +amusement that Matilda will henceforth indulge herself. That thou wilt +remind me of my errors, that I shall trace in thee gradually as thy +years advance, the features of him to whom my unfortunate life owed all +its colour, will but make thee a more proper companion, an object more +congenial to the sorrows of my soul. + + + +Letter XVIII + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marchioness of Pescara + +Cerenzo_ + +Madam, + +You may possibly before this letter comes to your hands have learned an +event that very nearly interests both you and me. If you have not, it is +not in my power at this time to collect together the circumstances, and +reduce them to the form of a narration. The design of my present letter +is of a very different kind. Shall I call that a design, which is the +consequence of an impulse urging me forward, without the consent of my +will, and without time for deliberation? + +I write this letter with a hand dyed with the blood of your husband. Let +not the idea startle you. Matilda is advanced too far to be frightened +with bugbears. What, shall a mind inured to fickleness and levity, +a mind that deserted, without reason and without remorse, the most +constant of lovers, and that recked not the consequences, shall such a +mind be terrified at the sight of the purple blood, or be moved from its +horrid tranquility by all the tragedies that an universe can furnish? + +Matilda, I have slain your husband, and I glory in the deed. I will +answer it in the face of day. I will defy that man to come forward, +and when he views the goary, lifeless corse, say to me with a tone of +firmness and conviction, "Thou hast done wrong." + +And now I have but one business more with life. It is to arraign the +fair and traiterous author of all my misfortunes. Start not at the black +catalogue. Flinch not from the detail of infernal mischief. The mind +that knows how to perpetrate an action, should know how to hear the +story of it repeated, and to answer it in all its circumstances. + +Matilda, I loved you. Alas, this is to say little! All my thoughts had +you for their centre. I was your slave. With you I could encounter +tenfold calamity, and call it happiness. Banished from you, the world +was a colourless and confused chaos. One moment of displeasure, one +interval of ambiguous silence crouded my imagination with every frantic +apprehension. One smile, one word of soft and soothing composition, fell +upon my soul like odoriferous balm, was a dulcet and harmonious sound, +that soothed my anguish into peace, that turned the tempest within me +to that still and lifeless calm, where not a breath disturbs the vast +serene. + +And this is the passion you have violated. You have trampled upon a +lover, who would have sacrificed his life to save that tender and +enchanting frame from the impression of a thorn. And yet, Matilda, if +it had been only a common levity, I would have pardoned it. If you had +given your hand to the first chance comer, I would have drenched the cup +of woe in solitude and darkness. Not one complaint from me should have +reached your ear. If you could have found tranquility and contentment, I +would not have been the avenging angel to blast your prospects. + +But there are provocations that the human heart cannot withstand. I did +not come from the hand of nature callous and intrepid, I was the stoic +of philosophy and reason. To lose my mistress and my friend at once. To +lose them!--Oh, ten thousand deaths would have been mercy to the loss! +Had they been tossed by tempests, had they been torn from my eyes by +whirlwinds, I would have viewed the scene with eye-balls of stiffened +horn. But to find all that upon which I had placed my confidence, upon +which I rested my weary heart, foul and false at once: to have those +bosoms, in which I fondly thought I reigned adored, combined in one +damned plot to overwhelm and ruin me--Indeed, Matilda, it was too much! + +Well, well. Be at peace my soul. I have taken my revenge. But revenge is +not a passion congenial to the spirit of St. Julian. It was once soft +and tender as a babe. You might have bended and moulded it into what +form you pleased. But I know not how it is, it is now remorseless and +unfeeling as a rock. I have swam in horror, and I am not satiated. +I could hear tales of distress, and I could laugh at their fancied +miseries. I could view all the tragedies of battle, and walk up and down +amidst seas of blood with tranquility. It is well. I did not think I +could have done all this. But inexplicable and almighty providence +strengthens, indurates the heart for the scenes of detestation to which +it is destined. + +And is it Rinaldo that I have slain? That friend that I held a thousand +times to my bosom, that friend over whose interests I have watched +without weariness? Many a time have I dropped the tear of oblivion over +his youthful wanderings. I exulted in the fruits of all my toil. Yes, +Matilda, I have seen the drops of sacred pity bedew his cheek. I have +seen his bosom heave with generous resentment, and heroic resolution. +Oh, there was a time, when the author of nature might have looked down +upon his work, and said, "This is a man." What benefits did not I +receive from his munificent character, and wide extended hand? + +And who made me his judge and his avenger? What right had I to thrust my +sword into his heart? He now lies a lifeless corse. Upon his breast +I see the gaping and death-giving wound. The blood bursts forth in +continued streams. His hair is clotted with it. That cheek, that lately +glowed, is now pale and sallow. All his features are deformed. The fire +in his eye is extinguished for ever. Who has done this? What wanton and +sacrilegious hand has dared deface the work of God? It could not be his +preceptor, the man upon whom he heaped a thousand benefits? It could not +be his friend? Oh, Rinaldo, all thy errors lie buried in the damp and +chilly tomb, but thy blood shall for ever rise to accuse me! + + + +Letter XIX + +_The Marquis of San Severino to the Marchioness of Pescara + +Naples_ + +Madam, + +I have just received a letter from your ladyship which gives me the +utmost pain. I am sincerely afflicted at the unfortunate concern I have +had in the melancholy affairs that have caused you so much uneasiness. I +expected indeed that the sudden death of so accomplished and illustrious +a character as your late husband, must have produced in a breast +susceptible as yours, the extremest distress. But I did not imagine that +you would have been so overwhelmed with the event, as to have forgotten +the decorums of your station, and to have derogated from the dignity of +your character. Madam, I sincerely sympathize in the violence of +your affliction, and I earnestly wish that you may soon recover that +self-command, which rendered your behaviour upon all occasions a model +of elegance, propriety and honour. + +Your ladyship proposes certain questions to me in your epistle of a very +singular nature. You will please to remember, that they will for the +most part be brought in a few days before a court of judicature. I must +therefore with all humility intreat you to excuse me from giving them a +direct answer. There would be an impropriety in a person, so illustrious +in rank, and whose voice is of considerable weight in the state, +forestalling the inferior courts upon these subjects. One thing however +I am at liberty to mention, and your ladyship may be assured, that in +any thing in my power I should place my highest felicity in gratifying +you. There was indeed some misinformation upon the subject; but I have +now the honour to inform you from authority upon which I depend, that +the count de St. Julian is now, and has always remained single. I +believe there never was any negociation of marriage between him and the +noble house of Aranda. + +Madam, it gives me much uneasiness, that your ladyship should entertain +the smallest suspicion of any impropriety in my behaviour in these +affairs. I believe the conduct of no man has been more strictly +conformed, in all instances, to the laws of decorum than my own. Objects +of no small magnitude, have upon various occasions passed under my +inspection, and you will be so obliging as to believe that upon no +occasion has my veracity been questioned, or the integrity of my +character suffered the smallest imputation. The rectitude of my actions +is immaculate, and my honour has been repeatedly asserted with my sword. + +Your ladyship will do me the favour to believe, that though I cannot +but regard your suspicions as equally cruel and unjust, I shall never +entertain the smallest resentment upon their account. I have the honour +to be, with all possible deference and esteem, + +Madam, + +Your ladyship's most faithful servant, + +The marquis of San Severino. + + + +Letter XX + +_The Count de St. Julian to Signor Hippolito Borelli + +Leontini_ + +My dear friend, + +Travelling through the various countries of Europe, and expanding your +philosophical mind to embrace the interests of mankind, you still are +so obliging as to take the same concern in the transactions of your +youthful friend as ever. I shall therefore confine myself in the letter +which I now steal the leisure to write, to the relation of those events, +of which you are probably as yet uninformed. If I were to give scope to +the feelings of my heart, with what, alas, should I present you but a +circle of repetitions, which, however important they may appear to +me, could not but be dull and tedious to any person less immediately +interested? + +As I pursued with greater minuteness the enquiries I had begun before +you quitted the kingdom of the two Sicilies, I found the arguments still +increasing upon me, which tended to persuade me of the innocence of +Matilda. Oh, my friend, what a letter did I address to her in the height +of my frenzy and despair? Every word spoke daggers, and that in a moment +when the tragical event of which I was the author, must naturally have +overwhelmed her with astonishment and agony. Yes, Hippolito, this action +must remain an eternal blot upon my character. Years of penitence could +not efface it, floods of tears could not wash it away. + +But before I had satisfied my curiosity in this pursuit, the time +approached in which it was necessary for me to take a public trial at +Naples. This scene was to me a solemn one. The blood of my friend sat +heavy at my heart. It is true no provocation could have been more +complicated than that I had received. Take it from me, Hippolito, as my +most mature and serious determination, that a Gothic revenge is beneath +the dignity of a man. It did not become me, who had aimed at the +character of unaccommodating virtue, to appear in defence of an action +that my heart disallowed. To stand forward before the delegated power of +my country with the stain of blood upon me, was not a scene for a man of +sensibility to act in. But the decision of my judges was more indulgent +than the verdict of my own mind. + +One of the persons who was most conspicuous upon this occasion, was the +marquis of San Severino. Hippolito, it is true, I have been hurried into +many actions that have caused me the severest regret. But I would not +for ten thousand worlds have that load of guilt upon my mind, that this +man has to answer for. And yet he bore his head aloft. He was placid and +serene. He was even disengaged and gay. He talked in as round a tone, +of honour and integrity, of veracity and virtue, as if his life were +spotless, and his heart immaculate. The circumstances however that +came out in the progress of the affair, were in the highest degree +disadvantageous to him. The general indignation and hatred seemed +gradually to swell against him, like the expansive surges of the ocean. +A murmur of disapprobation was heard from every side, proceeded from +every mouth. Even this accomplished villain at length hung his head. +When the court was dissolved, he was encountered with hisses and scorn +from the very lowest of the people. It was only by the most decisive +exertions of the guards of the palace, that he was saved from being torn +to pieces by the fury of the populace. + +You will be surprized to perceive that this letter is dated at the +residence of my fathers. Fourteen days ago I was summoned hither by the +particular request of my brother, who had been seized with a violent +epidemical distemper. It was extremely sudden in its operation, and +before I arrived he was no more. He had confessed however to one of the +friends of our house, before he expired, that he had forged the will of +my father, instigated by the surprize and disappointment he had felt, +when he understood that that father, whom he had employed so many +unjustifiable means to prepossess, had left his whole estate, exclusive +of a very small annuity, to his eldest son. Since I have been here, I +have been much employed in arranging the affairs of the family, which, +from the irregular and extemporary manner in which my brother lived, I +found in considerable disorder. + + + +Letter XXI + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marchioness of Pescara_ + + +_Leontini_ + +Madam, + +I have waited with patience for the expiration of twelve months, that +I might not knowingly be guilty of any indecorum, or intrude upon that +sorrow, which the tragical fate of the late marquis so justly claimed. +But how shall I introduce the subject upon which I am now to address +you? Where shall I begin this letter? Or with what arguments may I best +propitiate the anger I have so justly incensed, and obtain that boon +upon which the happiness of my future life is so entirely suspended? + +Among all the offences of which I have been guilty, against the simplest +and gentlest mind that ever adorned this mortal stage, there is none +which I less pardon to myself, than that unjust and precipitate letter, +which I was so inconsiderate as to address to you immediately after I +had steeped my hand in the murder of your husband. Was it for me, who +had so much reason to be convinced of the innocence and disinterested +truth of Matilda, to harbour suspicions so black, or rather to affront +her with charges, the most hideous and infamous? What crime is +there more inexcusable, than that of attributing to virtue all the +concomitants of vice, of casting all those bitter taunts, all that +aggravated and triumphant opprobrium in the face of rectitude, that +ought to be reserved only for the most profligate of villains? Yes, +Matilda, I trampled at once upon the exemptions of your sex, upon +the sanctity of virtue, upon the most inoffensive and undesigning of +characters. And yet all this were little. + +What a time was it that I chose for an injury so atrocious! A beautiful +and most amiable woman had just been deprived, by an unforeseen event, +of that husband, with whom but a little before she had entered into the +most sacred engagements. The state of a widow is always an afflictive +and unprotected one. Rank does not soften, frequently aggravates the +calamity. A tragedy had just been acted, that rendered the name of +Matilda the butt of common fame, the subject of universal discussion. +How painful and humiliating must this situation have been to that +anxious and trembling mind; a mind whose highest ambition coveted only +the tranquility that reigns in the shade of retreat, the silence and +obscurity that the wisest of philosophers have asserted to be the most +valuable reputation of her sex? Such was the affliction, in which I +might then have known that the mistress of my heart was involved. + +But I have since learned a circumstance before which all other +aggravations of my inhumanity fade away. The moment that I chose for +wanton insult and groundless arraignment, was the very moment in which +Matilda discovered all the horrid train of hypocrisy and falsehood by +which she had been betrayed. What a shock must it have given to her +gentle and benevolent mind, that had never been conscious to one +vicious temptation, that had never indulged the most distant thought of +malignity, to have found herself surprized into a conduct, to the nature +of which she had been a stranger, and which her heart disavowed? Of all +the objects of compassion that the universe can furnish, there is none +more truly affecting, than that of an artless and unsuspecting mind +insnared by involuntary guilt. The astonishment with which it is +overwhelmed, is vast and unqualified. The remorse with which it +is tortured, are totally unprepared and unexpected, and have been +introduced by no previous gradation. It is true, the involuntarily +culpable may in some sense be pronounced wholly innocent. The guilty +mind is full of prompt excuses, and ready evasions, but the untainted +spirit, not inured to the sophistry of vice, cannot accommodate itself +with these subterfuges. If such be the state of vulgar minds involved +in this unfortunate situation, what must have been that of so soft and +inoffensive a spirit? + +Oh, Matilda, if tears could expiate such a crime, ere this I had been +clear as the guileless infant. If incessant and bitter reproaches could +overweigh a guilt of the first magnitude, mine had been obliterated. But +no; the words I wrote were words of blood. Each of them was a barbed +arrow pointed at the heart. There was no management, there was no +qualification. And when we add to this the object against which all my +injuries were directed, what punishment can be discovered sufficiently +severe? The mind that invented it, must have been callous beyond all +common hardness. The hand that wrote it must be accursed for ever. + +And yet, Matilda, it is not merely pardon that I seek. Even that would +be balm to my troubled spirit. It would somewhat soften the harsh +outlines, and the aggravated features of a crime, which I shall never, +never forgive to my own heart. But no, think, most amiable of women, of +the height of felicity I once had full in view, and excuse my present +presumption. While indeed my mind was guiltless, and my hand unstained +with blood, while I had not yet insulted the woman to whose affections I +aspired, nor awakened the anger of the gentlest nature, of a heart made +up of goodness, and tenderness and sympathy, I might have aspired with +somewhat less of arrogance. Neither your heart nor mine, Matilda, were +ever very susceptible to the capricious distinctions of fortune. + +But, alas, how hard is it for a mind naturally ambitious to mould and to +level itself to a state of degradation. Believe me, I have put forth an +hundred efforts, I have endeavoured to blot your memory from a soul, in +which it yet does, and ever will reign unrivalled. No, it is to fight +with impassive air, it is to lash the foaming tempest into a calm. Time, +which effaces all other impressions, increases that which is indelibly +written upon my heart. A man whose countenance is pale and wan, and who +every day approaches with hasty and unremitted strides to the tomb, may +forget his situation, may call up a sickly smile upon his countenance, +and lull his mind to lethargy and insensibility. Such, Matilda, is all +the peace reserved for me, if yet I have no power in influencing the +determinations of your mind. Stupidity, thou must be my happiness! +Torpor, I will bestow upon thee all the endearing names, that common +mortals give to rapture! + +And yet, Matilda, if I retain any of that acute sensibility to virtue +and to truth, in which I once prided myself, there can be no conduct +more proper to the heir of the illustrious house of Colonna, than that +which my heart demands. You have been misguided into folly. What is more +natural to an ingenuous heart, than to cast back the following scandal +upon the foul and detested authors, with whom the wrong originated. You +have done that, which if all your passions had been hushed into silence, +and the whole merits of the cause had lain before you, you would never +have done. What reparation, Matilda, does a clear and generous spirit +dictate, but that of honestly and fearlessly acknowledging the mistake, +treading back with readiness and haste the fatal path, and embracing +that line of conduct which a deliberate judgment, and an informed +understanding would always have dictated? + +Is it not true,--tell me, thou mistress of my soul,--that upon your +determination in this one instance all your future reputation is +suspended? Accept the hand of him that adores you, and the truth will +shine forth in all its native splendour, and none but the blind can +mistake it. Refuse him, and vulgar souls will for ever confound you +with the unfortunate Rinaldo, and his detested seducer. Fame, beloved +charmer, is not an object that virtuous souls despise. To brave the +tongue of slander cannot be natural to the gentle and timid spirit of +Matilda. + +But, oh, I dare not depend upon the precision of logic, and the +frigidity of argumentation. Let me endeavour to awaken the compassion +and humanity of your temper. Recollect all the innocent and ecstatic +endearments with which erewhile our hours were winged. Never was +sublunary happiness so pure and unmingled. It was tempered with the +mildest and most unbounded sympathy, it was refined and elevated with +all the sublimity of virtue. These happy, thrice happy days, you, and +only you, can recall. Speak but the word, and time shall reverse his +course, and a new order of things shall commence. Think how much virtue +depends upon your fiat. Satisfied with felicity ourselves, our hearts +will overflow with benevolence for the world. Never will misery pass us +unrelieved, never shall we remit the delightful task of seeking out the +modest and the oppressed in their obscure retreat. We will set mankind +an example of integrity and goodness. We will retrieve the original +honours of the wedded state. Methinks, I could rouze the most lethargic +and unanimated with my warning voice! Methinks, I could breathe a spirit +into the dead! Oh, Matilda, let me inspire ambition into your breast! +Let me teach that tender and right gentle heart, to glow with a mutual +enthusiasm! + + + + +Letter XXII + + +_The Answer_ + +_Cosenza_ + +My lord, It is now three weeks since I received that letter, in which +you renew the generous offer of your hand. Believe me, I am truly +sensible of the obligation, and it shall for ever live in my grateful +heart. I am not now the same Matilda you originally addressed. I have +acted towards you in an inexcusable manner. I have forfeited that +spotless character which was once my own. All this you knew, and all +this did not deter you. My lord, for this generosity and oblivion, once +again, and from the bottom of my heart, I thank you. + +But it is not only in these respects, that the marchioness of Pescara +differs from the daughter of the duke of Benevento. Those poor charms, +my lord, which were once ascribed to me, have long been no more. The +hand of grief is much more speedy and operative in its progress than the +icy hand of age. Its wrinkles are already visible in my brow. The floods +of tears I have shed have already furrowed my cheeks. But oh, my lord, +it is not grief; that is not the appellation it claims. They are the +pangs of remorse, they are the cries of never dying reproach with +which I am agitated. Think how this tarnishes the heart and blunts the +imagination. Think how this subdues all the aspirations of innocence, +and unnerves all the exertions of virtue. Perhaps I was, flattery and +friendship had at least taught me to think myself, something above the +common level. But indeed, my lord, I am now a gross and a vulgar soul. +All the nicer touches are fretted and worn away. All those little +distinctions, those minuter delicacies I might once possess are +obliterated. My heart is coarse and callous. Others, of the same +standard that I am now, may have the same confidence in themselves, the +same unconsciousness of a superior, as nature's most favoured children. +But I am continually humbled by the sense of what I was. + +These things, my lord, I mention as considerations that have some +weight with me, and ought perfectly to reconcile you to my unalterable +determination. But these, I will ingenuously confess, are not the +considerations that absolutely decide me. You cannot but sufficiently +recollect the title I bear, and the situation in which I am placed. The +duties of the marchioness of Pescara are very different from those by +which I was formerly bound. Does it become a woman of rank and condition +to fling dishonour upon the memory of him to whom she gave her hand, or, +as you have expressed it, to cast back the scandal to which she may be +exposed upon the author with whom it originated? No, my lord: I must +remember the family into which I have entered, and I will never give +them cause to curse the day upon which Matilda della Colonna was +numbered among them. What, a wife, a widow, to proclaim with her own +mouth her husband for a villain? You cannot think it. It were almost +enough to call forth the mouldering ashes from the cincture of the tomb. + +My lord, it would not become me to cast upon a name so virtuous and +venerable as yours, the whisper of a blame. I will not pretend to argue +with you the impropriety and offence of a Gothic revenge. But it is +necessary upon a subject so important as that which now employs my pen, +to be honest and explicit. It is not a time for compliment, it is not +a moment for disguise and fluctuation. Whatever were the merits of the +contest, I cannot forget that your hand is deformed with the blood of my +husband. My lord, you have my sincerest good wishes. I bear you none +of that ill will and covert revenge, that are equally the disgrace of +reason and Christianity. But you have placed an unsuperable barrier +between us. You have sunk a gulph, fathomless and immeasurable. For us +to meet, would not be more contrary to the factitious dignity of rank, +than shocking to the simple and unadulterated feelings of our nature. +The world, the general voice would cry shame upon it. Propriety, +decency, unchanged and eternal truth forbid it. + +Yet once more. I have a son. He is all the consolation and comfort that +is left me. To watch over his infancy is my most delightful, and most +virtuous task. I have filled the character, neither of a mistress, nor a +wife, in the manner my ambition aimed at. I have yet one part left, and +that perhaps the most venerable of all, the part of a mother. Excellent, +and exalted name! thee I will never disgrace! Not for one moment will I +forget thee, not in one iota shalt thou be betrayed! + +My lord, I write this letter in my favourite haunt, where indeed I pass +hour after hour in the only pleasure that is left me, the nursery of my +child. At this moment I cast my eyes upon him, and he answers me with +the most artless and unapprehensive smile in the world. No, beloved +infant! I will never injure thee! I will never be the author of thy +future anguish! He seems, St. Julian, to solicit, that I would love him +always, and behold him with an unaltered tenderness. Yes, my child, I +will be always thy mother. From that character I will never derogate. +That name shall never be lost in another, however splendid, or however +attractive. Were I to hear you, my lord, they would tear him from my +arms, and I should commend their justice. I should see him no more. +These eyes would no longer be refreshed with that artless and adorable +visage. I should no longer please myself with pouring the accents of +my sorrow into his unconscious ear. Obdurate, unfeeling, relentless, +unnatural mother! These would be the epithets by which I should best be +known. These would be the sentiments of every heart. This would be the +unbought voice, even of those vulgar souls, in which penury had most +narrowed the conceptions, and repressed the enthusiasm of virtue. It is +true, my lord, Matilda is sunk very low. The finger of scorn has pointed +at her, and the whisper of unfeeling curiosity respecting her, has run +from man to man. But yet it shall have its limits. My resolution is +unalterable. To this I will never come. + +My lord, among those arguments which you so well know how to urge, you +have told me, that the cause you plead, is the cause of benevolence +and charity. You say, that felicity would open our hearts, and teach our +bosoms to overflow. But surely this is not the general progress of the +human character. I had been taught to believe, and I hope I have found +it true, that misfortune softens the disposition, and bids compassion +take a deeper root. It shall be ever my aim, to make this improvement of +those wasting sorrows, with which heaven has seen fit to visit me. For +you, I am not to learn what is your generous and god like disposition. +My lord, I will confess a circumstance, for which I know not whether +I ought to blush. Animated by that sympathetic concern, which I once +innocently took in all that related to you, I have made the most minute +enquiries respecting your retreat at Leontini. I shall never be afraid, +that the man, whose name dwells in the sweetest accents upon the lips of +the distressed, and is the consolation and the solace of the helpless +and the orphan, will degenerate into hardness. Go on, my lord! You are +in the path of virtue. You are in the line that heaven chalked out for +you. You will be the ornament of humanity, and your country's boast to +the latest posterity. + +FINIS + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Italian Letters, Vols. I and II, by William Godwin + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ITALIAN LETTERS, VOLS. 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I AND II *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David Widger and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +ITALIAN LETTERS + +Or + +The History of the Count de St. Julian + +By + +WILLIAM GODWIN + +Edited and with an Introduction by BURTON R. POLLIN [Blank Page] +_Italian Letters_ + +_Volume I_ + + + + +Letter I + + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Palermo_ + +My dear lord, + +It is not in conformity to those modes which fashion prescribes, that I +am desirous to express to you my most sincere condolence upon the death +of your worthy father. I know too well the temper of my Rinaldo to +imagine, that his accession to a splendid fortune and a venerable title +can fill his heart with levity, or make him forget the obligations he +owed to so generous and indulgent a parent. It is not the form of sorrow +that clouds his countenance. I see the honest tear of unaffected grief +starting from his eye. It is not the voice of flattery, that can render +him callous to the most virtuous and respectable feelings that can +inform the human breast. + +I remember, my lord, with the most unmingled pleasure, how fondly +you used to dwell upon those instances of paternal kindness that you +experienced almost before you knew yourself. I have heard you describe +with how benevolent an anxiety the instructions of a father were always +communicated, and with what rapture he dwelt upon the early discoveries +of that elevated and generous character, by which my friend is so +eminently distinguished. Never did the noble marquis refuse a single +request of this son, or frustrate one of the wishes of his heart. His +last prayers were offered for your prosperity, and the only thing that +made him regret the stroke of death, was the anguish he felt at parting +with a beloved child, upon whom all his hopes were built, and in whom +all his wishes centred. + +Forgive me, my friend, that I employ the liberty of that intimacy with +which you have honoured me, in reminding you of circumstances, which I +am not less sure that you revolve with a melancholy pleasure, than I am +desirous that they should live for ever in your remembrance. That +sweet susceptibility of soul which is cultivated by these affectionate +recollections, is the very soil in which virtue delights to spring. +Forgive me, if I sometimes assume the character of a Mentor. I would not +be so grave, if the love I bear you could dispense with less. + +The breast of my Rinaldo swells with a thousand virtuous sentiments. I +am conscious of this, and I will not disgrace the confidence I ought to +place in you. But your friend cannot but be also sensible, that you are +full of the ardour of youth, that you are generous and unsuspecting, and +that the happy gaiety of your disposition sometimes engages you with +associates, that would abuse your confidence and betray your honour. + +Remember, my dear lord, that you have the reputation of a long list of +ancestors to sustain. Your house has been the support of the throne, +and the boast of Italy. You are not placed in an obscure station, +where little would be expected from you, and little would be the +disappointment, though you should act in an imprudent or a vicious +manner. The antiquity of your house fixes the eyes of your countrymen +upon you. Your accession at so early a period to its honours and its +emoluments, renders your situation particularly critical. + +But if your situation be critical, you have also many advantages, to +balance the temptations you may be called to encounter. Heaven has +blessed you with an understanding solid, judicious, and penetrating. You +cannot long be made the dupe of artifice, you are not to be misled by +the sophistry of vice. But you have received from the hands of the +munificent creator a much more valuable gift than even this, a manly and +a generous mind. I have been witness to many such benevolent acts of my +Rinaldo as have made my fond heart overflow with rapture. I have traced +his goodness to its hiding place. I have discovered instances of his +tenderness and charity, that were intended to be invisible to every +human eye. + +I am fully satisfied that the marquis of Pescara can never rank among +the votaries of vice and folly. It is not against the greater instances +of criminality that I wish to guard you. I am not apprehensive of a +sudden and a total degeneracy. But remember, my lord, you will, from +your situation, be inevitably surrounded with flatterers. You are +naturally fond of commendation. Do not let this generous instinct be the +means of disgracing you. You will have many servile parasites, who will +endeavour, by inuring you to scenes of luxury and dissipation, to divert +your charity from its noblest and its truest ends, into the means of +supporting them in their fawning dependence. Naples is not destitute of +a set of young noblemen, the disgrace of the titles they wear, who would +be too happy to seduce the representative of the marquisses of Pescara +into an imitation of their vices, and to screen their follies under so +brilliant and conspicuous an example. + +My lord, there is no misfortune that I more sincerely regret than the +loss of your society. I know not how it is, and I would willingly +attribute it to the improper fastidiousness of my disposition, that +I can find few characters in the university of Palermo, capable of +interesting my heart. With my Rinaldo I was early, and have been long +united; and I trust, that no force, but that of death, will be able to +dissolve the ties that bind us. Wherever you are, the heart of your St. +Julian is with you. Wherever you go, his best wishes accompany you. If +in this letter, I have assumed an unbecoming austerity, your lordship +will believe that it is the genuine effusion of anxiety and friendship, +and will pardon me. It is not that I am more exempt from youthful folly +than others. Born with a heart too susceptible for my peace, I am +continually guilty of irregularities, that I immediately wish, but am +unable to retract. But friendship, in however frail a bosom she resides, +cannot permit her own follies to dispense her from guarding those she +loves against committing their characters. + + + +Letter II + +_The Answer_ + +_Naples_ + +It is not necessary for me to assure my St. Julian, that I really felt +those sentiments of filial sorrow which he ascribes to me. Never did any +son sustain the loss of so indulgent a father. I have nothing by which +to remember him, but acts of goodness and favour; not one hour of +peevishness, not one instance of severity. Over all my youthful follies +he cast the veil of kindness. All my imaginary wants received a prompt +supply. Every promise of spirit and sensibility I was supposed to +discover, was cherished with an anxious and unremitting care. + +But such as he was to me, he was, in a less degree, to all his +domestics, and all his dependents. You can scarcely imagine what a +moving picture my palace--and must I call it mine? presented, upon my +first arrival. The old steward, and the grey-headed lacqueys endeavoured +to assume a look of complacency, but their recent grief appeared through +their unpractised hypocrisy. "Health to our young master! Long life," +cried they, with a broken and tremulous accent, "to the marquis of +Pescara!" You will readily believe, that I made haste to free them from +their restraint, and to assure them that the more they lamented my ever +honoured father, the more they would endear themselves to me. Their +looks thanked me, they clasped their hands with delight, and were +silent. + +The next morning as soon as I appeared, I perceived, as I passed along, +a whole crowd of people plainly, but decently habited, in the hall. +"Who are they?" said I. "I endeavoured to keep them off," said the old +steward, "but they would not be hindered. They said they were sure that +the young marquis would not bely the bounty of their old master, upon +which they had so long depended for the conveniences and comfort of +life." "And they shall not be kept off," said I; and advancing towards +them, I endeavoured to convince them, that, however unworthy of his +succession, I would endeavour to keep alive the spirit of their +benefactor, and would leave them as little reason as possible to regret +his loss. Oh! my St. Julian, who but must mourn so excellent a parent, +so amiable, so incomparable a man! + +But you talked to me of the flattering change in my situation. And shall +I confess to you the truth? I find nothing in it that flatters, nothing +that pleases me. I am told my revenues are more extensive. But what is +that to me? They were before sufficiently ample, and I had but to wish +at any time, in order to have them increased. But I am removed to the +metropolis of the kingdom, to the city in which the court of my master +resides, to the seat of elegance and pleasure. And yet, amidst all that +it offers, I sigh for the rural haunts of Palermo, its pleasant hills, +its fruitful vales, its simplicity and innocence. I sit down to a more +sumptuous table, I am surrounded with a more numerous train of servants +and dependents. But this comes not home to the heart of your Rinaldo. +I look in vain through all the circle for an equal and a friend. It is +true, when I repair to the levee of my prince, I behold many equals; but +they are strangers to me, their faces are dressed in studied smiles, +they appear all suppleness, complaisance and courtliness. A countenance, +fraught with art, and that carries nothing of the soul in it, is +uninteresting, and even forbidding in my eye. + +Oh! how long shall I be separated from my St. Julian? I am almost angry +with you for apologizing for your kind monitions and generous advice. If +my breast glows with any noble sentiments, it is to your friendship I +ascribe them. If I have avoided any of the rocks upon which heedless +youth is apt to split, yours is all the honour, though mine be the +advantage. More than one instance do I recollect with unfeigned +gratitude, in which I had passed the threshold of error, in which I had +already set my foot upon the edge of the precipice, and was reclaimed by +your care. But what temptations could the simple Palermo offer, compared +with the rich, the luxurious, and dissipated court of Naples? + +And upon this scene I am cast without a friend. My honoured father +indeed could not have been my companion, but his advice might have been +useful to me in a thousand instances. My St. Julian is at a distance +that my heart yearns to think of. Volcanos burn, and cataracts roar +between us. With caution then will I endeavour to tread the giddy +circle. Since I must, however unprepared, be my own master, I will +endeavour to be collected, sober, and determined. + +One expedient I have thought of, which I hope will be of service to me +in the new scene upon which I am to enter. I will think how my friend +would have acted, I will think that his eye is upon me, and I will make +it a law to myself to confess all my faults and follies to you. As you +have indulged me with your correspondence, you will allow me, I doubt +not, in this liberty, and will favour me from time to time with those +honest and unbiassed remarks upon my conduct, which it is consonant with +your character to make. + + + + +Letter III + +_The Same to the Same_ + +_Naples_ + +Since I wrote last to my dear count, I have been somewhat more in +public, and have engaged a little in the societies of this city. You can +scarcely imagine, my friend, how different the young gentlemen of Naples +are from my former associates in the university. You would hardly +suppose them of the same species. In Palermo, almost every man was cold, +uncivil and inattentive; and seemed to have no other purpose in view +than his own pleasure and accommodation. At Naples they are all good +nature and friendship. Your wishes, before you have time to express +them, are forestalled by the politeness of your companions, and each +seems to prefer the convenience and happiness of another to his own. + +With one young nobleman I am particularly pleased, and have chosen him +from the rest as my most intimate associate. It is the marquis of San +Severino. I shall endeavour by his friendship, as well as I can, to +make up to myself the loss of my St. Julian, of whose society I am +irremediably deprived. He does not indeed possess your abilities, he +has not the same masculine understanding, and the same delightful +imagination. But he supplies the place of these by an uninterrupted flow +of good humour. All his passions seem to be disinterested, and it would +do violence to every sentiment of his heart to be the author of a +moment's pain to another. + +Do not however imagine, my dear count, that my partiality to this +amiable young nobleman renders me insensible to the defects of his +character. Though his temper be all sweetness and gentleness, his views +are not the most extensive. He considers much more the present ease of +those about him, than their future happiness. He has not harshness, he +has not firmness enough in his character, shall I call it? to refuse +almost any request, however injudicious. He is therefore often led into +improper situations, and his reputation frequently suffers in a manner +that I am persuaded his heart does not deserve. + +The person of San Severino is tall, elegant and graceful. His manners +are singularly polite, and uniformly unembarassed. His voice is +melodious, and he is eminently endowed by nature with the gift of +eloquence. A person of your penetration will therefore readily imagine, +that his society is courted by the fair. His propensity to the tender +passion appears to have been very great, and he of consequence lays +himself out in a gallantry that I can by no means approve. + +Such, my dear count, appears to me to be the genuine and impartial +character of my new friend. His good nature, his benevolence, and the +pliableness of his disposition may surely be allowed to compensate for +many defects. He can indeed by no means supply the place of my St. +Julian. I cannot look up to him as a guide, and I believe I shall never +be weak enough to ask his advice in the conduct of my life. + +But do not imagine, my dear lord, that I shall be in much danger of +being misled by him into criminal irregularities. I feel a firmness of +resolution, and an ardour in the cause of virtue, that will, I trust, +be abundantly sufficient to set these poor temptations at defiance. +The world, before I entered it, appeared to me more formidable than it +really is. I had filled it with the bugbears of a wild imagination. +I had supposed that mankind made it their business to prey upon each +other. Pardon me, my amiable friend, if I take the liberty to say, that +my St. Julian was more suspicious than he needed to have been, when he +supposed that Naples could deprive me of the simplicity and innocence +that grew up in my breast under his fostering hand at Palermo. + + + + +Letter IV + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Palermo_ + +I rejoice with you sincerely upon the pleasures you begin to find in the +city of Naples. May all the days of my Rinaldo be happy, and all his +paths be strewed with flowers! It would have been truly to be lamented, +that melancholy should have preyed upon a person so young and so +distinguished by fortune, or that you should have sighed amidst all the +magnificence of Naples for the uncultivated plainness of Palermo. So +long as I reside here, your absence will constantly make me feel an +uneasy void, but it is my earnest wish that not a particle of that +uneasiness may reach my friend. + +Surely, my dear marquis, there are few correspondents so young as +myself, and who address a personage so distinguished as you, that deal +with so much honest simplicity, and devote so large a share of their +communications to the forbidding seriousness of advice. But you have +accepted the first effort of my friendship with generosity and candour, +and you will, I doubt not, continue to behold my sincerity with a +favourable eye. + +Shall I venture to say that I am sorry you have commenced so intimate a +connexion with the marquis of San Severino? Even the character of him +with which you have favoured me, represents him to my wary sight as too +agreeable not to be dangerous. But I have heard of him from others, a +much more unpleasing account. + +Alas, my friend, under how fair an outside are the most pernicious +principles often concealed! Your honest heart would not suspect, that an +appearance of politeness frequently covers the most rooted selfishness. +The man who is all gentleness and compliance abroad, is often a tyrant +among his domestics. The attendants upon a court put on their faces +as they put on their clothes. And it is only after a very long +acquaintance, after having observed them in their most unguarded hours, +that you can make the smallest discovery of their real characters. +Remember, my dear Rinaldo, the maxim of the incomparable philosopher of +Geneva: "Man is not naturally amiable." If the human character shews +less pleasing and attractive in the obscurity of retreat, and among the +unfinished personages of a college, believe me, the natives of a court +are not a whit more disinterested, or have more of the reality of +friendship. The true difference is, that the one wears a disguise, and +the other appear as they are. + +I do not mean however to impute all the faults I have mentioned to the +marquis of San Severino. He is probably in the vulgar sense of the word +good-natured. As you have already expressed it, he knows not how to +refuse the requests, or contradict the present inclinations of those +with whom he is connected. You say rightly that his gallantries are such +as you can by no means approve. He is, if I am not greatly misinformed, +in the utmost degree loose and debauched in his principles. The greater +part of his time is spent in the haunts of intemperance, and under the +roofs of the courtezan. I am afraid indeed he has gone farther than +this, and that he has not scrupled to ruin innocence, and practise all +the arts of seduction. + +There is, my dear Rinaldo, a species of careless and youthful vice, that +assumes the appearance of gentleness, and wears the garb of generosity. +It even pretends to the name of virtue. But it casts down all the sacred +barriers of religion. It laughs to scorn that suspicious vigilance, that +trembling sensibility, that is the very characteristic of virtue. It +represents those faults of which a man may be guilty without +malignity, as innocent. And it endeavours to appropriate to itself +all comprehensiveness of view, all true fortitude, and all liberal +generosity. + +Believe me, my friend, this is the enemy from which you have most to +fear. It is not barefaced degeneracy that can seduce you. She must +be introduced under a specious name, she must disguise herself like +something that nature taught us to approve, and she must steal away the +heart at unawares. + + + +Letter V + + +_The Answer_ + +_Naples_ + +I can never sufficiently acknowledge the friendship that appears in +every line of your obliging epistles. Even where your attachment is +rouzed without a sufficient cause, it is only upon that account the more +conspicuous. + +I took the liberty, my dear count, immediately after receiving your +last, to come to an explanation with San Severino. I mentioned to him +the circumstances in your letter, as affairs that had been casually +hinted to me. I told him, that I was persuaded he would excuse my +freedom, as I was certain there was some misinformation, and I could not +omit the opportunity of putting it in his power to justify himself. The +marquis expressed the utmost astonishment, and vowed by all that was +sacred, that he was innocent of the most important part of the charge. +He told me, that it was his ill fortune, and he supposed he was not +singular, to have enemies, that made it their business to misrepresent +every circumstance of his conduct. He had been calumniated, cruelly +calumniated, and could he discover the author of the aspersion, he would +vindicate his honour with his sword. In fine, he explained the whole +business in such a manner, as, though I could not entirely approve, yet +evinced it to be by no means subversive of the general amiableness of +his character. How deplorable is the situation in which we are placed, +when even the generous and candid temper of my St. Julian, can be +induced to think of a young nobleman in a light he does not deserve, and +to impute to him basenesses from which his heart is free! + +Soon after this interview I was introduced by my new friend into a +society of a more mixed and equivocal kind than I had yet seen. Do not +however impute to the marquis a surprize of which he was not guilty. He +fairly stated to me of what persons the company was to be composed; and +idle curiosity, and perhaps a particular gaiety of humour, under the +influence of which I then was, induced me to accept of his invitation. +If I did wrong, my dear count, blame me, and blame me without reserve. +But if I may judge from the disposition in which I left this house, I +only derived a new reinforcement to those resolutions, with which your +conversation and example first inspired me. + +It was in the evening, after the opera. The company was composed of +several of our young nobility, and an equal number of female performers +and other ladies of the same reputation. They almost immediately broke +into _tête-à-têtes_, and of consequence one of the ladies addressed +herself particularly to me. The vulgar familiarity of her manners, +and the undisguised libidinousness of her conversation, I must own, +disgusted me. Though I do not pretend to be devoid of the passions +incident to my age, I was not at all pleased with the addresses of this +female. As my companions were more active in the choice of an associate, +it may perhaps be only candid to own, that she was not the most pleasing +in the circle. The consciousness of the eyes of the whole party +embarrassed me. And the aukward attempts I made to detach myself from +my enamorata, as they proved unsuccessful, so they served to excite a +general smile. San Severino however presently perceived my situation, +and observing that I was by no means satisfied with my fortune, he with +the utmost politeness broke away from the company, and attended me home. + +How is it my dear friend that vice, whose property it should seem to +be, to hesitate and to tremble, should be able to assume this air of +confidence and composure? How is it that innocence, that surely should +always triumph, is thus liable to all the confusion and perplexity of +guilt? Why is virtue chosen, but because she is the parent of honour, +because she enables a man to look in the face the aspersions of calumny, +and to remain firm and undejected, amidst whatever fortune has of +adverse and capricious? And are these advantages merely imaginary? Are +composure and self-approbation common to the upright and the wicked? Or +do those who are most hardened, really possess the superiority; and can +conscious guilt bid defiance to shame, while rectitude is continually +liable to hide her head in confusion? + + + + +Letter VI + +_The Same to the Same_ + + +_Naples_ + +You will recollect, my St. Julian, that I promised to confess to you my +faults and my follies, and to take you for the umpire and director of +my conduct. Perhaps I have done wrong. Perhaps, though unconscious of +error, I am some how or other misled, and need your faithful hand to +lead me back again to the road of integrity. + +Why is it that I feel a reluctance to state to you the whole of my +conduct? It is a sensation to which I have hitherto been a stranger, and +in spite of me, it obliges me to mistrust myself. But I have discovered +the reason. It is, that educated in solitude, and immured in the walls +of a college, we had not learned to make allowances for the situations +and the passions of mankind. You and I, my dear count, have long agreed, +that the morality of priests is to be distrusted: that it is too often +founded upon sinister views and private interest: that it has none +of that comprehension of thought, that manly enthusiasm, which is +characteristic of the genuine moral philosopher. What have penances and +pilgrimages, what have beads and crosses, vows made in opposition to +every instinct of nature, and an obedience subversive of the original +independency of the human mind, to do with virtue? + +Thus far, my amiable friend, you advanced, but yet I am afraid you have +not advanced far enough. I am told there is an honesty and an honour, +that preserves a man's character free from impeachment, which is +perfectly separate from that sublime goodness that you and I have always +admired. But to this sentiment I am by no means reconciled. To speak +more immediately to the subject I intended. + +What can be more justifiable, or reasonable, than a conformity to the +original propensities of our nature? It is true, these propensities may +by an undue cultivation be so much increased, as to be productive of +the most extensive mischief. The man who, for the sake of indulging +his corporeal appetites, neglects every valuable pursuit, and every +important avocation, cannot be too warmly censured. But it is no less +true, that the passion of the sexes for each other, exists in the most +innocent and uncorrupted heart. Can it then be reasonable to condemn +such a moderate indulgence of this passion, as interrupts no employment, +and impedes no pursuit? This indulgence, in the present civilized +state of society, requires no infringement of order, no depravation of +character. The legislators of every country, whose wisdom may surely +be considered as somewhat greater than that of its priests, have +judiciously overlooked this imagined irregularity, and amongst all the +penalties which they have ambitiously, and too often without either +sentiment or humanity, heaped together against the offences of society, +have suffered this to pass unnoticed. Why should we be more harsh and +rigorous than they? It is inconsistent with all logic and all candour, +to argue against the use of any thing from its abuse. Of what mischief +can the moderate gratification of this appetite be the source? It does +not indeed romantically seek to reclaim a class of women, whom every +sober man acknowledges to be irreclaimable. But with that benevolence +that is congenial to a comprehensive mind, it pities them with all their +errors, and it contributes to preserve them from misery, distress, and +famine. + +From what I have now said, I believe you will have already suspected of +what nature are those particulars in my conduct, which I set out with +an intention of confessing. Whatever may be my merit or demerit in this +instance, I will not hide from you that the marquis of San Severino was +the original cause of what I have done. You are already sufficiently +acquainted with the freedom of his sentiments upon this subject. He is a +professed devotee of the sex, and he suffers this passion to engross a +much larger share of his time than I can by any means approve. Incited +by his exhortations, I have in some measure imitated his conduct, at the +same time that I have endeavoured not to fall into the same excesses. + +But I believe that I shall treat you more regularly in the manner of a +confessor, and render you more master of the subject, by relating to you +the steps by which I have been led to act and to justify, that which I +formerly used to condemn. I have already told you, how aukward I felt my +situation in the first society of the gayer kind, into which my friend +introduced me. Though he politely freed me from my present embarassment, +he could not help rallying me upon the rustic appearance I made. He +apologized for the ill fortune I had experienced, and promised to +introduce me to a mistress beautiful as the day, and sprightly and +ingenious as Sappho herself. + +What could I do? I was unwilling to break with the most amiable +companion I had found in the city of Naples. I was staggered with his +reasonings and his eloquence. Shall I acknowledge the truth? I was +mortified at the singular and uncouth figure I had made. I felt myself +actuated with a social sympathy, that made me wish to resemble those of +my own rank and age, in any thing that was not seriously criminal. I was +involuntarily incited by the warm description San Severino gave me of +the beauty and attractions of the lady he recommended. Must we not +confess, my St. Julian, setting the nature of the business quite out +of the question, that there was something highly disinterested in the +behaviour of the marquis upon this occasion? He left his companions and +his pleasures, to accommodate himself to my weakness. He managed his own +character so little, as to undertake to recommend to me a female friend. +And he seems to have neglected the interest of his own pleasures +entirely, in order to introduce me to a woman, inferior in +accomplishments to none of her sex. + + + + +Letter VII + + +_The Same to the Same_ + +_Naples_ + +Could I ever have imagined, my dear count, that in so short a time the +correspondence between us would have been so much neglected? I have +yet received no answer to my last letter, upon a subject particularly +interesting, and in which I had some reason to fear your disapprobation. +My St. Julian lives in the obscurity of retreat, and in the solitude +most favourable to literary pursuits. What avocations can have called +off his attention from the interests of his friend? May I be permitted +however to draw one conclusion from your silence, that you do not +consider my situation as critical and alarming? That although you join +the prudent severity of a monitor with the candid partiality of a +friend, you yet view my faults in a venial light, and are disposed to +draw over them the veil of indulgence? + +I might perhaps deduce a fairer apology for the silence on my part from +my new situation, the avocations incident to my rank and fortune, and +the pleasures that abound in a city and a court so celebrated as that +of Naples. But I will not attempt an apology. The novelty of these +circumstances have diverted my attention more than they ought from the +companion of my studies and the friend of my youth, but I trust I shall +never forget him. I have met with companions more gay, and consorts more +obsequious, but I have never found a character so worthy, and a friend +so sincere. + +Since I last addressed my St. Julian, I have been engaged in various +scenes both of a pleasurable and a serious kind. I think I am guilty of +no undue partiality to my own conduct when I assure you, that I have +embarked in the lighter pursuits of associates of my own age without +having at any time forgotten what was due to the lustre of my ancestry, +and the favour of my sovereign. I have not injured my reputation. I +have mingled business and pleasure, so as not to sacrifice that which +occupies the first place, to that which holds only the second. + +I trust that my St. Julian knows me too well, to suppose that I would +separate philosophy and practice, reason and action from each other. It +was by the instructions of my friend, that I learned to rise superior +to the power of prejudice, to reject no truth because it was novel, to +refuse my ear to no arguments because they were not backed by pompous +and venerable names. In pursuance of this system, I have ventured in +my last to suggest some reasons in favour of a moderate indulgence of +youthful pleasures. Perhaps however my dear count will think, that I am +going beyond what even these reasons would authorize in the instance I +am about to relate. + +You are not probably to be informed that there are a certain kind of +necessary people, dependents upon such young noblemen as San Severino +and his friends, upon whom the world has bestowed the denomination +of pimps. One of these gentlemen seemed of late to feel a particular +partiality to myself. He endeavoured by several little instances of +officiousness to become useful to me. At length he told me of a young +person extremely beautiful and innocent, whose first favours he believed +he could engage to procure in my behalf. + +At that idea I started. "And do you think, my good friend," said I, +"because you are acquainted with my having indulged to some of those +pleasures inseparable from my age, that I would presume to ruin +innocence, and be the means of bringing upon a young person so much +remorse and such an unhappy way of life, as must be the inevitable +consequence of a step of this kind?" "My lord," replied the parasite, "I +do not pretend to be any great casuist in these matters. His honour of +San Severino does I know seldom give way to scruples of this kind. But +in the instance I have mentioned there are several things to be said. +The mother of the lady, who formerly moved in a higher sphere than she +does at present, never maintained a very formidable character. This +daughter is the fruit of her indiscriminate amours, and though I am +perfectly satisfied she has not yet been blown upon by the breath of +a mortal, her education has been such as to prepare her to follow the +venerable example of her mother. Your lordship therefore sees that in +this case, you will wrong no parent, and seduce no child, that you will +merely gather an harvest already ripe, and which will be infallibly +reaped by the first comer." + +Though the reasons of my convenient gentleman made me hesitate, they +by no means determined me to the execution of the plan he proposed. He +immediately perceived the situation of my mind, and hinted that he +might at least have the honour of placing me in a certain church, that +afternoon at vespers, where I might have an opportunity of seeing, and +perhaps conversing a little with the lady. To this scheme I assented. + +She appeared not more than sixteen years of age. Her person was small, +but her form was delicate. Her auburn tresses hung about her neck +in great profusion. Her eyes sparkled with vivacity, and even with +intelligence. Her dress was elegant and graceful, but not gaudy. It +was impossible that such a figure should not have had some tendency to +captivate me. Having contemplated her sufficiently at a distance, I +approached nearer. + +The little gipsey turned up her eyes askance, and endeavoured to take a +sly survey of me as I advanced. I accosted her. Her behaviour was full +of that charming hesitation which is uniformly the offspring of youth +and inexperience. She received me with a pretty complaisance, but at +the same time blushed and appeared fluttered she knew not why. I +involuntarily advanced my hand towards her, and she gave me hers with a +kind of unreflecting frankness. There was a good sense and a simplicity +united in her appearance, and the few words she uttered, that pleased +and even affected me. + +Such, my dear friend, is the present state of my amour. I confess I have +frequently considered seduction in an odious light. But here I think few +or none of the objections against it have place. The mellow fruit is +ready to drop from the tree, and seems to solicit some friendly hand to +gather it. + + + + +Letter VIII + + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Palermo_ + +My dear lord, + +Avocations of no agreeable kind, and with which it probably will not +be long before you are sufficiently acquainted, have of late entirely +engrossed me. You will readily believe, that they were concerns of no +small importance, that hindered me from a proper acknowledgment and +attention to the communications of my friend. But I will dismiss my own +affairs for the present, and make a few of the observations to which you +invite me upon the contents of your letters. + +Alas! my Rinaldo is so entirely changed since we used to wander together +among the groves and vallies, and along the banks of that stream which I +now see from my window, that I scarcely know him for the same. Where +is that simplicity, where that undisguised attachment to virtue and +integrity, where that unaccommodating system of moral truth, that used +to live in the bosom of my friend? All the lines of his character seem +to suffer an incessant decay. Shall I fear that the time is hastening +when that sublime and generous spirit shall no longer be distinguished +from the San Severinos, the men of gaiety and pleasure of the age? And +can I look back upon this alteration, and apprehensions thus excited, +and say, "all this has taken place in six poor months?" + +Do not imagine, my dear lord, that I am that severe monitor, that rigid +censor, that would give up his friend for every fault, that knows not +how to make any allowance for the heedless levity of youth. I can +readily suppose a man with the purest heart and most untainted +principles, drawn aside into temporary error. Occasion, opportunity, +example, an accidental dissipation of mind are inlets to vice, against +which perhaps it is not in humanity to be always guarded. + +Confidence, my dear friend, unsuspicious confidence, is the first source +of error. In favour of the presumptuous man, who wantonly incurs danger +and braves temptation, heaven will not interest itself. There can be +no mistake more destitute of foundation, than that which supposes man +exempt from frailty. + +Had not my Rinaldo, trusting too much to his own strength, laid himself +open to dangerous associates, he would now have contemplated those +actions he has been taught to excuse, with disgust and horror. His own +heart would never have taught him that commodious morality he has been +induced to patronize. But he feared them not. He felt, as he assured me, +that firmness of resolution, and ardour of virtue, that might set +these temptations at defiance. Be ingenuous, my friend. Look back, and +acknowledge your mistake. Look back, and acknowledge, that to the purest +and most blameless mind indiscriminate communications are dangerous. + +I had much rather my dear marquis had once deviated from that line of +conduct he had marked out to himself, than that he had undertaken to +defend the deviation, and exerted himself to unlearn principles that did +him honour. You profess to believe that indulgences of this sort are +unavoidable, and the temptations to them irresistible. And is man then +reduced to a par with the brutes? Is there a single passion of the soul, +that does not then cease to be blameless, when it is no longer directed +and restrained by the dictates of reason? A thousand considerations of +health, of interest, of character, respecting ourselves; and of benefit +and inconvenience to society, will be taken into the estimate by the +wise and the good man. + +But these considerations are superseded by that which cannot be +counteracted. And does not the reciprocal power of motives depend upon +the strength and vivacity with which they are exhibited to the mind? The +presence of a superior would at any time restrain us from an unbecoming +action. The sense of a decided interest, the apprehension of a certain, +and very considerable detriment, would deprive the most flattering +temptation of all its blandishments. And are not this sense and this +apprehension in a great degree in the power of every man? + +Tell me, my friend; Shall that action which in a woman is the utter +extinction of all honour, be in a man entirely faultless and innocent? +But the world is not quite so unjust. Such a conduct even in our sex +tends to the diminution of character, is considered in the circle of the +venerable and the virtuous as a subject of shame and concealment, and +if persisted in, causes a person universally to be considered, as alike +unfit for every arduous pursuit, and every sublime undertaking. + +Is it possible indeed, that the society of persons in the lowest state +of profligacy, can be desirable for a man of family, for one who +pretends to honour and integrity? Is it possible that they should not +have some tendency to pollute his ideas, to debase his sentiments, and +to reduce him to the same rank with themselves? If the women you have +described irreclaimable, let it at least be remembered that your +conduct tends to shut up against them the door of reformation and +return, and forces upon them a mode of subsistence which they might not +voluntarily have chosen. + +Thus much for your first letter. Your second calls me to a subject +of greater seriousness and magnitude. My Rinaldo makes hasty strides +indeed! Scarcely embarked in licentious and libertine principles, +he seems to look forward to the last consummation of the debauchee. +Seduction, my dear lord, is an action that will yield in horror to no +crime that ever sprang up in the degenerate breast. + +But it seems, the action you propose to yourself is divested of some +of the aggravations of seduction. I will acknowledge it. Had my friend +received this crime into his bosom in all its deformity, dear as he is +to me, I would have thrown him from my heart with detestation. Yes, I am +firmly persuaded, that the man who perpetrates it, however specious he +may appear, was never conscious to one generous sentiment, never knew +the meaning of rectitude and integrity, but was at all times wrapped up +in that narrow selfishness, that torpid insensibility, that would not +disgrace a fiend. + +He undermines innocence surrounded with all her guard of ingenuous +feelings and virtuous principles. He forces from her station a +defenceless woman, who, without his malignant interposition, might have +filled it with honour and happiness. He heaps up disgrace and misery +upon a family that never gave him provocation, and perhaps brings down +the grey hairs of the heads of it to the grave with calamity. + +Of all hypocrites this man is the most consummate and the most odious. +He dresses his countenance in smiles, while his invention teems with +havoc and ruin. He pretends the sincerest good will without feeling one +sentiment of disinterested and honest affection. He feigns the warmest +attachment that he may the more securely destroy. + +This, my friend, is not the crime of an instant, an action into which +he is hurried by unexpected temptation, and the momentary violence of +passion. He goes about it with deliberation. He lays his plans with all +the subtlety of a Machiavel, and all the flagitiousness of a Borgia. +He executes them gradually from day to day, and from week to week. And +during all this time he dwells upon the luxurious idea, he riots in the +misery he hopes to create. He will tell you he loves. Yes, he loves, as +the hawk loves the harmless dove, as the tyger loves the trembling kid. +And is this the man in whose favour I should ever have been weak enough +to entertain a partiality? I would tear him from my bosom like an adder. +I would crush him like a serpent. + +But your case has not the same aggravations. Here is no father who +prizes the honour of his family more than life, and whose heart is bound +up in the virtue of his only child. Here is no mother a stranger to +disgrace, and who with unremitted vigilance had fought to guard every +avenue to the destruction of her daughter. Even the victim herself has +never learned the beauty of virgin purity, and does not know the value +of that she is about to lose. + +And yet, my Rinaldo, after all these deductions, there is something in +the story of this uninstructed little innocent, even as stated by him +who is ready to destroy her, that greatly interests my wishes in her +favour. She does not know it seems all the calamity of the fate that is +impending over her. She is blindfolded for destruction. She plays with +her ruin, and views with a thoughtless and a partial eye the murderer of +her virtue and her happiness. + + _And, oh, poor helpless nightingale, thought I, + How sweet thou sing'st, how near the deadly snare!_ + +But if you do not accept the proposal that is made you, it is but too +probable what her fate will be, and how soon the event will take +place. And is this an excuse for my friend to offer? Thousands are the +iniquities that are now upon the verge of action. An imagination the +most fertile in horror can scarcely conceive the crimes that will +probably be committed. And shall I therefore with malignant industry +forestal the villain in all his black designs? You do not mean it. + +Permit me yet to suggest one motive more. A connection like that you +have proposed to yourself, might probably make you a father. Of all +the charities incident to the human character, those of a parent are +abundantly the most exquisite and venerable. And can a man of the +smallest sensibility think with calmness, of bringing children into the +world to be the heirs of shame? When he gives them life he entails upon +them dishonour. The father that should look upon them with joy, as a +benefit conferred upon society, and the support of his declining age, +regards them with coldness and alienation. The mother who should +consider them as her boast and her honour, cannot behold them without +opening anew all the sluices of remorse, cannot own them without a +blush. + +This, my Rinaldo, is what you might do, and in doing it you would +perpetrate an action that would occasion to an ingenuous mind an eternal +regret. But there is another thing also that you might do, and that a +mind, indefatigable in the pursuit of rectitude, as was once that of my +friend, would not need to have suggested to it by another. Instead +of treasuring up remorse, instead of preparing for an innocent and +unsuspecting victim a life of misery and shame, you might redeem her +from impending destruction. You might obtain for her an honest and +industrious partner, and enable her to acquire the character of a +virtuous matron, and a respectable mother of a family. + +Reflect for a moment, my dear marquis, on this proposal, which I hope +is yet in your power. Think you, that conscious rectitude, that the +exultation of your heart when you recollect the temptation you have +escaped, and the noble turn you have given it, will not infinitely +overbalance the sordid and fleeting pleasure you are able to attain? +Imagine to yourself that you see her offspring growing up under the care +of a blameless mother, and coming forward to thank you for the benefit +you bestowed upon them before they had a being. Is not this an object +over which a heart susceptible to one manly feeling may reasonably +triumph? + + + + +Letter IX + +_The Count de St. Julian to Signor Hippolito Borelli_ + +_Messina_ + +You, my dear Hippolito, were the only one of my fellow-collegians, to +whom I communicated all the circumstances of that unfortunate situation +which obliged me to take a final leave of the university. The death of +a father, though not endeared by the highest reciprocations of mutual +kindness, must always make some impressions upon a susceptible mind. The +wound was scarcely healed that had been made by the loss of a mother, a +fond mother, who by her assiduous attentions had supplied every want, +and filled up every neglect, to which I might otherwise have been +exposed. + +When I quitted Palermo, I resolved before I determined upon any thing, +to proceed to the residence of my family at Leontini. My reception +was, as I expected, cold and formal. My brother related to me the +circumstances of the death of my father, over which he affected to shed +tears. He then produced his testament for my inspection, pretended to +blame me that though I were the elder, I had so little ingratiated +myself in his favour, and added, that he could not think of being guilty +of so undutiful a conduct, as to contravene the last dispositions of his +father. If however he could be of any use to me in my future plans of +life, he would exert himself to serve me. + +The next morning I quitted Leontini. My reflexions upon the present +posture of my affairs, could not but be melancholy. I was become as it +were a native of the world, discarded from every family, cut off from +every country. Born to a respectable rank and a splendid fortune, I +was precluded in a moment from expectations so reasonable, and an +inheritance which I might have hoped at this time to reap. Many there +are, I doubt not, who have no faculties by which to comprehend the +extent of this misfortune. The loss of possessions sufficiently ample, +and of the power and dignity annexed to his character, who is the +supporter of an ancient name, they would confess was to be regretted. +But I had many resources left. My brother would probably have received +me into his family, and I might have been preserved from the sensations +of exigency and want. And could I think of being obliged for this to +a brother, who had always beheld me with aversion, who was not of +a character to render the benefits he conferred insensible to the +receiver, and who, it was scarcely to be supposed, had not made use of +sinister and ungenerous arts to deprive me of my inheritance? But the +houses of the great were still open. My character was untainted, my +education had been such as to enable me to be useful in a thousand +ways. Ah, my Hippolito, the great are not always possessed of the most +capacious minds. There are innumerable little slights and offences that +shrink from description, but which are sufficient to keep alive the most +mortifying sense of dependency, and to make a man of sensibility, and +proud honour constantly unhappy. And must I, who had hoped to be +the ornament and boast of my country, thus become a burden to my +acquaintance, and a burden to myself? + +Such were the melancholy reflexions in which I was engaged. I had left +Leontini urged by the sentiments of miscarriage and resentment. I fled +from the formality of condolence, and the useless parade of friendship. +I would willingly have hid myself from every face I had hitherto known. +I would willingly have retired to a desart. My thoughts were all in +arms. I revolved a thousand vigorous resolutions without fixing upon +one. + +I had now proceeded somewhat more than two leagues upon my journey, +and had gained the centre of that vast and intricate forest which you +remember to be situated at no great distance from Leontini. In this +place there advanced upon me in a moment four of those bravoes, for +which this place is particularly infamous, and who are noted for their +daring and hazardous atchievements. Myself and my servant defended +ourselves against them for some time. One of them was wounded in the +beginning of the encounter. But it was impossible that we could have +resisted long. My servant was hurt in several places, and I had received +a wound in my arm. In this critical moment a cavalier, accompanied by +several attendants, and who appeared to be armed, advanced at no great +distance. The villains immediately took up their disabled companion, +and retired with precipitation into the thickest part of the wood. My +deliverer now ordered some of his attendants to pursue them, while +himself with one servant remained to assist us. + +Imagine, my dear friend, what were my emotions, when I discovered in my +preserver, the marquis of Pescara! I recollected in a moment all our +former intimacy, and in what manner it had so lately been broken off. +Little did I think that I should almost ever have seen him again. Much +less did I think that I should ever have owed him the most important +obligations. + +The expression of the countenance of both of us upon this sudden +recognition was complicated. Amidst all the surprize and gratitude, that +it was impossible not to testify, my eyes I am convinced had something +in them of the reproach of violated friendship. I thought I could trace, +and by what followed I could not be mistaken, in the air of my Rinaldo, +a confession of wrong, united with a kind of triumph, that he had been +enabled so unexpectedly and completely to regain that moral equilibrium +which he had before lost. + +It was not long before his servants returned from an unsuccessful +pursuit, and we set forward for a village about a quarter of a league +further upon the road from Leontini. It was there that I learned from my +friend the occasion and subject of his journey. He had heard at Naples a +confused report of the death of my father, and the unexpected succession +of my brother. The idea of this misfortune involuntarily afflicted him. +At the thought of my distress all his tenderness revived. "And was it," +it was thus that he described the progress of his reflections, "in +the moment of so unexpected a blow, that my St. Julian neglected the +circumstances of his own situation, to write to me that letter, +the freedom of whose remonstrances, and the earnestness of whose +exhortations so greatly offended me? How much does this consideration +enhance the purity and disinterestedness of his friendship? And is it +possible that I should have taken umbrage at that which was prompted +only by tenderness and attachment? And did I ever speak of his +interference in those harsh and reproachful terms which I so well +knew would be conveyed to him again? Could I have been so blinded by +groundless resentment, as to have painted him in all the colours of an +inflexible dictator, and a presumptuous censor? Could I have imputed his +conduct to motives of pride, affectation, and arrogance? How happy had I +been, had his advice arrived sooner, and been more regarded?" + +But it was not with self-blame and reproach only, that the recovery +of my Rinaldo was contented. The idea of the situation of his friend +incessantly haunted him. No pursuit, no avocation, could withdraw his +attention, or banish the recollection from his mind. He determined to +quit Naples in search of me. He left all those engagements, and all +those pleasures of which he had of late been so much enamoured, and +crossing the sea he came into Sicily. Learning that I had quitted +Palermo, he resolved to pursue his search of me to Leontini. He had +fixed his determination not to quit the generous business upon which he +had entered, without discovering me in my remotest retreat, atoning for +the groundless resentment he had harboured, and contributing every thing +in his power to repair the injustice I had suffered from those of my +own family. And in pursuance of these ideas he has made me the most +disinterested and liberal proposals of friendship and assistance. + +How is it, my Hippolito, that the same man shall be alternately governed +by the meanest and most exalted motives: that he shall now appear an +essence celestial and divine, and now debase himself by a conduct the +most indefensible and unworthy? But such I am afraid is man. Mixed +in all his qualities, and inconsistent in all his purposes. The most +virtuous and most venerable of us all are too often guilty of things +weak, sordid, and disgraceful. And it is to be hoped on the other hand, +that there are few so base and degenerate, as not sometimes to perform +actions of the most undoubted utility, and to feel sentiments dignified +and benevolent. It is in vain that the philosopher fits in his airy +eminence, and seeks to reduce the shapeless mass into form, and +endeavours to lay down rules for so variable and inconstant a system. +Nature mocks his efforts, and the pertinacity of events belies his +imaginary hypotheses. + +But I am guilty of injustice to my friend. An action which he has so +sincerely regretted, and so greatly atoned, ought not to be considered +with so much severity. I trust I am not misled by the personal +interest I may appear to have in his present conduct. I think I should +contemplate it with the same admiration, and allow it the same weight, +if its benevolence entirely regarded another. Indeed I am still in the +greatest uncertainty how to determine. I am still inclined to prefer my +former plan, of entering resolutely upon new scenes and new pursuits, +to that of taking up any durable residence in the palace of my friend. +There is something misbecoming a man in the bloom of youth, and +labouring under no natural disadvantages and infirmities, in the +subsisting in any manner upon the bounty of another. The pride of my +heart, a pride that I do not seek to extinguish, leads me to prefer an +honest independence, in however mean a station, to the most splendid, +and the most silken bondage. + +Why should not he that is born a nobleman be also born a man? A man is a +character superior to all those that civilization has invented. To be a +man is the profession of a citizen of the world. A man of rank is a poor +shivering, exotic plant, that cannot subsist out of his native soil. If +the imaginary barriers of society were thrown down, if we were reduced +back again to a state of nature, the nobleman would appear a shiftless +and a helpless being; he only who knew how to be a man would show like +the creature of God, a being sent into the world with the capacities of +subsistence and enjoyment. The nobleman, an artificial and fantastic +creation, would then lose all that homage in which he plumed himself, he +would be seen without disguise, and be despised by all. + +Oh, my Hippolito, in spite of all this parade of firmness and +resolution, I cannot quit my native country but with the sincerest +regret. I had one tie, why do I mention it? Never did I commit this +confidence to any mortal. It was the dream of a poetical imagination. It +was a vision drawn in the fantastic and airy colours that flow from the +pencil of youth. Fondly I once entertained a hope. I lived upon it. But +it is vanished for ever. + +I shall go from hence with the marquis of Pescara to Naples. I shall +there probably make a residence of several weeks. In that time I +shall have fixed my plans, and immediately after shall enter upon the +execution of them. + + + + +Letter X + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Cosenza_ + +My dear lord, + +Every thing that has happened to me for some time past, appears so +fortunate and extraordinary that I can scarcely persuade myself that +it is not a dream. Is it possible that I should not have been born to +uninterrupted misfortune? The outcast of my father almost as soon as I +had a being, I was never sensible to the solace of paternal kindness, I +could never open my heart, and pour forth all my thoughts into the bosom +of him to whom I owed my existence. Why was I created with a mind so +delicate as to be susceptible of a thousand feelings, and ruffled by a +thousand crosses, that glide unheeded over the breasts of the majority +of mankind? What filial duty did I neglect, what instance of obedience +did I ever refuse, that should have made me be considered with a regard +so rigorous and austere? And was it not punishment enough to be debarred +of all the solace I might have hoped to derive from the cares of a +guardian and a protector? How did I deserve to be deprived of that +patrimony which was my natural claim, to be sent forth, after having +formed so reasonable expectancies, after having received an education +suitable to my rank, unassisted and unprovided, upon the theatre of the +world? + +I had pictured that world to myself as cold, selfish, and unfeeling. +I expected to find the countenances of my fellow-creatures around me +smiling and unconcerned, whatever were my struggles, and whatever were +my disappointments. Philosophy had deprived me of those gay and romantic +prospects, which often fill the bosom of youth. A temper too sensible +and fastidious had taught me not to look for any great degree of +sympathy and disinterested ardour among the bulk of my fellow-creatures. + +I have now found that avoiding one extreme I encountered the other. As +most men, induced by their self-importance, expect that their feelings +should interest, and their situations arrest the attention of those +that surround them; so I having detected their error counted upon less +benevolence and looked for less friendship than I have found. My Rinaldo +demanded to be pardoned for having neglected my advice, and misconstrued +the motives of it. I had not less reason to intreat his forgiveness in +my turn, for having weighed his character with so little detail, and so +hastily decided to his disadvantage. + +My friend will not suspect me of interested flattery, when I say, that I +sincerely rejoice in a conduct so honourable to human nature as his has +been respecting me. He had no motive of vanity, for who was there that +interested himself in the fate of so obscure an individual; who in all +the polite circles and _conversazioni_ of Naples, would give him credit +for his friendship, to a person so unlike themselves? He superseded +all the feelings of resentment, he counted no distance, he passed over +mountains and seas in pursuit of his exalted design. + +But my Rinaldo, generous as he is, is not the only protector that +fortune has raised to the forlorn and deserted St. Julian. You are +acquainted with the liberal and friendly invitation I received from the +duke of Benevento at Messina. His reception was still more cordial and +soothing. He embraced me with warmth, and even wept over me. He could +not refrain from imprecations upon the memory of my father, and he +declared with energy, that the son of Leonora della Colonna should never +suffer from the arbitrary and capricious tyranny of a Sicilian count. +He assured me in the strongest terms that his whole fortune was at +my disposal. Then telling me that his dear and only child had been +impatient for my arrival, he took me by the hand, and led me to the +amiable Matilda. + +A change like this could not but be in the highest degree consolatory +and grateful to my wounded heart. The balm of friendship and affection +is at all times sweet and refreshing. To be freed at once from the +prospect of banishment, and the dread of dependence, to be received with +unbounded friendship and overflowing generosity by a relation of my +mother, and one who places the pride of his family in supporting and +distinguishing me, was an alteration in my circumstances which I could +not have hoped. I am not insensible to kindness. My heart is not shut +against sensations of pleasure. My spirits were exhilarated; my hours +passed in those little gratifications and compliances, by which I might +best manifest my attachment to my benefactor; and I had free recourse +to the society of his lovely daughter, whose conversation animated with +guileless sallies of wit, and graced with the most engaging modesty, +afforded me an entertainment, sweet to my breast, and congenial to my +temper. + +But alas, my dear marquis, it is still true what I have often observed, +that I was not born for happiness. In the midst of a scene from which +it might best be suspected to spring, I am uneasy. My heart is corroded +with anguish, and I have a secret grief, that palls and discolours every +enjoyment, and that, by being carefully shut up in my own bosom, is so +much the more afflicting and irksome. Yes, my Rinaldo, this it was that +gave a sting to the thought of removing to a foreign country. This +was that source of disquiet, which has constantly given me an air of +pensiveness and melancholy. In no intercourse of familiarity, in no hour +of unrestricted friendship, was it ever disclosed. It is not, my friend, +the dream of speculative philosophy, it has been verified in innumerable +facts, it is the subject of the sober experience of every man, that +communication and confidence alleviate every uneasiness. But ah, if it +were before disquiet and melancholy, now it burns, it rages, I am no +longer master of myself. + +You remember, my dear Rinaldo, that once in the course of my residence +at the university, I paid a visit to the duke of Benevento at Cosenza. +It was then that I first saw the amiable Matilda. She appeared to me the +most charming of her sex. Her cheeks had the freshness of the peach, and +her lips were roses. Her neck was alabaster, and her eyes sparkled with +animation, chastened with the most unrivalled gentleness and delicacy. +Her stature, her forehead, her mouth--but ah, impious wretch, how canst +thou pretend to trace her from charm to charm! Who can dissect unbounded +excellence? Who can coolly and deliberately gaze upon the brightness +of the meridian sun? I will say in one word, that her whole figure was +enchanting, that all her gestures were dignity, and every motion was +grace. + +Young and unexperienced I drank without suspicion of the poison of love. +I gazed upon her with extacy. I hung upon every accent of her voice. In +her society I appeared mute and absent. But it was not the silence of an +uninterested person: it was not the distraction of philosophic thought. +I was entirely engaged, my mind was full of the contemplations of her +excellence even to bursting. I felt no vacancy, I was conscious to no +want, I was full of contentment and happiness. + +As soon however as she withdrew, I felt myself melancholy and dejected. +I fled from company. I sought the most impervious solitude. I wasted the +live-long morn in the depth of umbrageous woods, amidst hills and meads, +where I could perceive no trace of a human footstep. I longed to be +alone with the object of my admiration. I thought I had much to say to +her, but I knew not what. I had no plan, my very wishes were not reduced +into a system. It was only, that full of a new and unexperienced +passion, it sought incessantly to break forth. It urged me to disburden +my labouring heart. + +Once I remember I obtained the opportunity I had so long wished. It came +upon me unexpectedly, and I was overwhelmed by it. My limbs trembled, +my eyes lost their wonted faculty. The objects before them swam along +indistinctly. I essayed to speak, my very tongue refused its office. I +felt that I perspired at every pore. I rose to retire, I sat down again +irresolute and confounded. + +Matilda perceived my disorder and coming towards me, enquired with a +tender and anxious voice, whether I felt myself ill. The plaintive and +interesting tone in which she delivered herself completed my confusion. +She rang the bell for assistance, and the scene was concluded. When I +returned to Palermo, I imagined that by being removed from the cause of +my passion, I should insensibly lose the passion itself. Rinaldo, you +know that I am not of that weak and effeminate temper to throw the reins +upon the neck of desire, to permit her a clear and undisputed reign. I +summoned all my reason and all my firmness to my aid. I considered the +superiority of her to whom my affections were attached, in rank, in +expectations, in fortune. I felt that my passion could not naturally be +crowned with success. "And shall I be the poor and feeble slave of love? +Animated as I am with ambition, aspiring to the greatest heights of +knowledge and distinction, shall I degenerate into an amorous and +languishing boy; shall I wilfully prepare for myself a long vista of +disappointment? Shall I by one froward and unreasonable desire, stain +all my future prospects, and discolour all those sources of enjoyment, +that fate may have reserved for me?" Alas, little did I then apprehend +that loss of fortune that was about to place me still more below the +object of my wishes! + +But my efforts were vain. I turned my attention indeed to a variety of +pursuits. I imagined that the flame which had sprung up at Cosenza was +entirely extinguished. I seemed to retain from it nothing but a kind of +soft melancholy and a sober cast of thought, that made me neither less +contented with myself, nor less agreeable to those whose partiality I +was desirous to engage. + +But I no sooner learned that reverse of fortune which disclosed itself +upon the death of my father, than I felt how much I had been deceived. I +had only drawn a slight cover over the embers of passion, and the fire +now broke out with twice its former violence. I had nourished it +unknown to myself with the distant ray of hope, I had still cheated my +imagination with an uncertain prospect of success. When every prospect +vanished, when all hopes were at an end, it burst every barrier, it +would no longer be concealed. My temper was in the utmost degree +unsuitable to a state of dependence, but it was this thought that made +it additionally harsh and dreadful to my mind. I loved my country with +the sincerest affection, but it was this that made banishment worse than +ten thousand deaths. The world appeared to me a frightful solitude, with +not one object that could interest all my attention, and fill up all the +wishes of my heart. + +From these apprehensions, and this dejection, I have been unexpectedly +delivered. But, oh, my dear marquis, what is the exchange I have made? I +reside under the same roof with the adorable Matilda. I see every day, +I converse without restraint with her, whom I can never hope to call +my own. Can I thus go on to cherish a passion, that can make me no +promises, that can suggest to me no hopes? Can I expect always to +conceal this passion from the most penetrating eyes? How do I know that +I am not at this moment discovered, that the next will not lay my heart +naked in the sight of the most amiable of women? + +Cosenza! thou shalt not long be my abode. I will not live for ever in +unavailing struggles. Concealment shall not always be the business of +the simplest and most undisguised of all dispositions. I will not +watch with momentary anxiety, I will not tremble with distracting +apprehensions. Matilda, thy honest and unsuspecting heart by me shall +never be led astray. If the fond wishes of a father are reserved for +cruel disappointment, I will not be the instrument. My secret shall lie +for ever buried in this faithful breast. It shall die with me. I will +fly to some distant land. I will retire to some country desolated by +ever burning suns, or buried beneath eternal snows. There I can love +at liberty. There I can breathe my sighs without one tell-tale wind to +carry them to the ears, with them to disturb the peace of those whom +beyond all mankind I venerate and adore. I may be miserable, I may be +given up to ever-during despair. But my patron and his spotless daughter +shall be happy. + +Alas, this is but the paroxysm of a lover's rage. I have no resolution, +I am lost in perplexity. I have essayed in vain, I cannot summon +together my scattered thoughts. Oh, my friend, never did I stand so much +in need of a friend as now. Advise me, instruct me. To the honesty of +your advice, and the sincerity of your friendship I can confide. Tell me +but what to do, and though you send me to the most distant parts of the +globe, I will not hesitate. + + + + +Letter XI + + +_The Same to the Same_ + +_Cosenza_ + +My most dear lord, + +Expect me in ten days from the date of this at your palace at Naples. My +mind is now become more quiet and serene than when I last wrote to you. +I have considered of the whole subject of that letter with perfect +deliberation. And I have now come to an unchangeable resolution. + +It is this which has restored a comparative tranquility to my thoughts. +Yes, my friend, there is a triumph in fortitude, an exultation in +heroical resolve, which for a moment at least, sets a man above the most +abject and distressing circumstances. Since I have felt my own dignity +and strength, the tumultuous hurry of my mind is stilled. I look upon +the objects around me with a calm and manly despair. I have not yet +disclosed my intentions to the duke, and I may perhaps find some +difficulty in inducing him to acquiesce in them. But I will never change +them. + +You will perceive from what I have said, that my design in coming to +Naples is to prepare for a voyage. I do not doubt of the friendship and +generous assistance of the duke of Benevento. I shall therefore enter +upon my new scheme of life with a more digested plan, and better +prospects.--But why do I talk of prospects! + +I have attempted, and with a degree of success, to dissipate my mind +within a few days past, by superintending the alterations about which +you spoke to me, in your gardens at this place. You will readily +perceive how unavoidably I am called off from an employment, which +derives a new pleasure from the sentiments of friendship it is +calculated to awaken, by the perverse and unfortunate events of my life. + + + + +Letter XII + + +_The Same to the Same_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +Why is it, my dear marquis, that the history of my life is so +party-coloured and extraordinary, that I am unable to foresee at the +smallest distance what is the destiny reserved for me? Happiness and +misery, success and disappointment so take their turns, that in the one +I have not time for despair, and in the other I dare not permit to my +heart a sincere and unmingled joy. + +The day after I dispatched my last letter the duke of Benevento, whose +age is so much advanced, was seized with a slight paralytic stroke. +He was for a short time deprived of all sensation. The trouble of his +family, every individual of which regards him with the profoundest +veneration, was inexpressible. Matilda, the virtuous Matilda, could not +be separated from the couch of her father. She hung over him with the +most anxious affection. She watched every symptom of his disorder, and +every variation of his countenance. + +I am convinced, my dear Rinaldo, that there is no object so beautiful +and engaging as this. A woman in all the pride of grace, and fulness of +her charms, tending with unwearied care a feeble and decrepid parent; +all her features informed with melting anxiety and filial tenderness, +yet suppressing the emotions of her heart and the wilder expressions of +sorrow; subduing even the stronger sentiments of nature, that she may +not by an useless and inconsiderate grief supersede the kind care, and +watchful attention, that it is her first ambition to yield. It is a +trite observation, that beauty never appears so attractive as when +unconscious of itself; and I am sure, that no self-forgetfulness can be +so amiable, as that which is founded in the emotions of a tender and +gentle heart. The disorder of the duke however was neither violent nor +lasting. In somewhat less than an hour, the favourable symptoms began to +appear, and he gradually recovered. In the mean time a certain lassitude +and feebleness remained from the shock he received, which has not yet +subsided. + +But what language shall I find to describe to my Rinaldo the scene to +which this event furnished the occasion? + +The next day the duke sent for his daughter and myself into his chamber. +As soon as we were alone he began to describe, in terms that affected us +both, the declining state of his health. "I feel," said he, "that +this poor worn-out body totters to its fall. The grave awaits me. The +summonses of death are such as cannot but be heard. + +"Death however inspires me with no terror. I have lived long and +happily. I have endeavoured so to discharge every duty in this world as +not to be afraid to meet the supreme source of excellence in another. +The greatness of him that made us is not calculated to inspire terror +but to the guilty. Power and exalted station, though increased to an +infinite degree, cannot make a just and virtuous being tremble. + +"Heaven has blessed me with a daughter, the most virtuous of her sex. +Her education has been adequate to the qualities which nature bestowed +upon her. I may without vanity assert, that Italy cannot produce her +parragon.--The first families of my country might be proud to receive +her into their bosom, princes might sue for her alliance. But I had +rather my Matilda should be happy than great. + +"Come near, my dear count. I will number you also among the precious +gifts of favouring heaven. Your reputation stands high in the world, and +is without a blemish. From earliest youth your praises were music to my +ears. But great as they were, till lately I knew not half your worth. +Had I known it sooner, I would sooner have studied how to reward it. I +should then perhaps have been too happy. + +"Believe me, my St. Julian, I have had much experience. In successive +campaigns, I have encountered hardships and danger. I have frequented +courts, and know their arts. Do not imagine then, young and unsuspecting +as you are, that you have been able to hide from me one wish of your +heart. I know that you love my daughter. I have beheld your growing +attachment with complacency. My Matilda, if I read her sentiments +aright, sees you with a favourable eye. Pursue her, my son, and win her. +If you can gain her approbation, doubt not that I will give my warmest +benedictions to the auspicious union." + +You will readily believe, that my first care was to return my most +ardent thanks to my protector and father. Immediately however I cast an +anxious and enquiring eye upon the mistress of my heart. Her face was +covered with blushes. I beheld in her a timidity and confusion that made +me tremble. But my suspence was not long. I have since drawn from her +the most favourable and transporting confession. Oh, my friend, she +acknowledges that from the first moment she saw me, she contemplated me +with partiality. She confesses, that her father by the declaration he +has made, so far from thwarting her ambition and disappointing her +wishes, has conferred upon her the highest obligation. How much, my dear +Rinaldo, is the colour of my fortune changed. It was upon this day, +at this very hour, I had determined to leave Cosenza for ever. I had +consigned myself over to despair. I was about to enter upon a world +where every face I beheld would have been a stranger to me. The scene +would have been uniform and desolate. I should have left all the +attachments of my youth, I should have left the very centre of my +existence behind me. I should have ceased to live. I should only have +drawn along a miserable train of perceptions from year to year, without +one bright day, without one gay prospect, to illuminate the gloomy +scene, and tell me that I was. + +Is it possible then that every expectation, and the whole colour of my +future life, can be so completely altered? Instead of despair, felicity. +Instead of one dark, unvaried scene, a prospect of still increasing +pleasure. Instead of standing alone, a monument of misfortune, an object +to awaken compassion in the most obdurate, shall I stand alone, the +happiest of mortals? Yes, I will never hereafter complain that nature +denied me a father, I have found a more than father. I will never +complain of calamity and affliction, in my Matilda I receive an +over-balance for them all. + + + + +Letter XIII + +_The Same to the Same_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +Alas, my friend, the greatest sublunary happiness is not untinged with +misfortune. I have no right however to exclaim. The misfortune to which +I am subject, however nearly it may affect me, makes no alteration in +the substance of my destiny. I still trust that I shall call my Matilda +mine. I still trust to have long successive years of happiness. And can +a mortal blessed as I, dare to complain? Can I give way to lamentation +and sorrow? Yes, my Rinaldo. The cloud will quickly vanish, but such is +the fate of mortals. The events, which, when sunk in the distant past, +affect us only with a calm regret, in the moment in which they overtake +us, overwhelm us with sorrow. + +I mentioned in my last, that the disorder of the duke of Benevento was +succeeded by a feebleness and languor that did not at first greatly +alarm us. It however increased daily, and was attended with a kind of +listlessness and insensibility that his physicians regarded as a very +dangerous symptom. Almost the only marks he discovered of perception and +pleasure, were in the attendance of the adorable Matilda. Repeatedly +at intervals he seized her trembling hand, and pressed it to his dying +lips. + +As the symptoms of feebleness increased upon him incessantly, he was +soon obliged to confine himself to his chamber. After an interval of +near ten days he became more clear and sensible. He called several of +his servants into the room, and gave them directions which were to be +executed after his decease. He then sent to desire that I would attend +him. His daughter was constantly in his chamber. He took both our hands +and joining them together, bowed over them his venerable head, and +poured forth a thousand prayers for our mutual felicity. We were +ourselves too much affected to be able to thank him for all his +tenderness and attention. + +By these exertions, and the affection with which they were mingled, +the spirits and strength of the duke were much exhausted. He almost +immediately fell into a profound sleep. But as morning approached, he +grew restless and disturbed. Every unfavourable symptom appeared. A +stroke still more violent than the preceding seized him, and he expired +in about two hours. + +Thus terminated a life which had been in the highest degree exemplary +and virtuous. In the former part of it, this excellent man distinguished +himself much in the service of his country, and engaged the affection +and attachment of his prince. He was respected by his equals, and adored +by the soldiery. His humanity was equally conspicuous with his courage. +When he left the public service for his retirement at this place, he did +not forget his former engagements, and his connexion with the army. +It is not perhaps easy for a government to make a complete and ample +provision for those poor men whose most vigorous years were spent in +defending their standard. Certain it is that few governments attend to +this duty in the degree in which they ought, and a wide field is left +for the benevolence of individuals. This benevolence was never more +largely and assiduously exhibited than by the duke of Benevento. He +provided for many of those persons of whose fidelity and bravery he had +been an eyewitness, in the most respectable offices in his family, and +among his retinue. Those for whom he could not find room in these +ways he gratified with pensions. He afforded such as were not yet +incapacitated for labour, the best spur to an honest industry, the +best solace under fatigue and toil, that of being assured that their +decrepitude should never stand in need of the simple means of comfort +and subsistence. + +It may naturally be supposed that the close of a life crowded with deeds +of beneficence, the exit of a man whose humanity was his principal +feature, was succeeded by a very general sorrow. Among his domestics +there appeared an universal gloom and dejection. His peasants and his +labourers lamented him as the best of masters, and the kindest of +benefactors. His pensionaries wept aloud, and were inconsolable for the +loss of him, in whom they seemed to place all their hopes of comfort and +content. + +You might form some idea of the sorrow of the lovely Matilda amidst this +troop of mourners, if I had been able to convey to you a better idea of +the softness and gentleness of her character. As the family had been +for some years composed only of his grace and herself, her circle of +acquaintance has never been extensive. Her father was all the world to +her. The duke had no enjoyment but in the present felicity and future +hopes of his daughter. The pleasures of Matilda were centered in the +ability she possessed of soothing the infirmities, and beguiling the +tedious hours of her aged parent. + +There is no virtue that adds so noble a charm to the finest traits of +beauty, as that which exerts itself in watching over the tranquility of +an aged parent. There are no tears that give so noble a lustre to the +cheek of innocence, as the tears of filial sorrow. Oh, my Rinaldo! I +would not exchange them for all the pearls of Arabia, I would not barter +them for the mines of Golconda. No, amiable Matilda, I will not check +thy chaste and tender grief. I prize it as the pledge of my future +happiness. I esteem it as that which raises thee to a level with angelic +goodness. Hence, thou gross and vulgar passion! that wouldst tempt me +to kiss away the tears from her glowing cheeks. I will not soil their +spotless purity. I will not seek to mix a thought of me with a sentiment +not unworthy of incorporeal essences. + +I shall continue at this place to regulate the business of the funeral. +I shall endeavour to put all the affairs of the lovely heiress into a +proper train. I will then wait upon my dear marquis at his palace in +Naples. For a few weeks, a few tedious weeks, I will quit the daily +sight and delightful society of my amiable charmer. At the expiration of +that term I shall hope to set out with my Rinaldo for his villa at +this place. Every thing is now in considerable forwardness, and will +doubtless by that time be prepared for your reception. + + + + +Letter XIV + + +_The Count de St. Julian to Matilda della Colonna_ + +_Naples_ + +I will thank you a thousand times for the generous permission you gave +me, to write to you from this place. I have waited an age, lovely +Matilda, that I might not intrude upon your hours of solitude and +affliction, and violate the feelings I so greatly respect. You must not +now be harsh and scrupulous. You must not cavil at the honest expression +of those sentiments you inspire. Can dissimulation ever be a virtue? +Can it ever be a duty to conceal those emotions of the soul upon which +honour has set her seal, and studiously to turn our discourse to +subjects uninteresting and distant to the heart? + +How happy am I in a passion which received the sanction of him, who +alone could claim a voice in the disposal of you! There are innumerable +lovers, filled with the most ardent passion, aiming at the purest +gratifications, whose happiness is traversed by the cold dictates of +artificial prudence, by the impotent distinctions of rank and family. +Unfeeling parents rise to thwart their wishes. The despotic hand +of authority tears asunder hearts united by the softest ties, and +sacrifices the prospect of felicity to ridiculous and unmeaning +prejudices. Let us, my Matilda, pity those whose fate is thus +unpropitious, but let us not voluntarily subject ourselves to their +misfortune. No voice is raised to forbid our union. Heaven and earth +command us to be happy. + +Alas, I am sufficiently unfortunate, that the arbitrary decorums of +society have banished me from your presence. In vain Naples holds out to +me all her pleasures and her luxury. Ill indeed do they pay me for the +exchange. Its court, its theatres, its assemblies, and its magnificence, +have no attractions for me. I had rather dwell in a cottage with her I +love, than be master of the proudest palace this city has to boast. + +In compliance with the obliging intreaties of the marquis of Pescara, I +have entered repeatedly into the scene of her entertainments. But I was +distracted and absent. A variety of topics were started of literature, +philosophy, news, and fashion. The man of humour told his pleasant tale, +and the wit flashed with his lively repartee. But I heard them not. +Their subjects were in my eye tedious and uninteresting. They talked +not of the natural progress of the passions. They did not dissect the +characters of the friend and the lover. My heart was at Cosenza. + +Fatigued with the crowded assembly and the fluttering parterre, I sought +relief in solitude. Never was solitude so grateful to me. I indulged +in a thousand reveries. Gay hope exhibited all her airy visions to +my fancy. I formed innumerable prospects of felicity, and each more +ravishing than the last. The joys painted by my imagination were surely +too pure, too tranquil to last for ever. Oh how sweet is an untasted +happiness! But ours, Matilda, shall be great, beyond what expectation +can suggest. Ours shall teem with ever fresh delights, refined by +sentiment, sanctified by virtue. Nothing but inevitable fate shall +change it. May that fate be distant as I wish it! + +But alas, capricious and unbounded fancy has sometimes exhibited a +different scene. A heart, enamoured, rivetted to its object like mine, +cannot but have intervals of solicitude and anxiety. If it have no real +subject of uncertainty and fear, it will create to itself imaginary +ones. But I have no need of these. I am placed at a distance from the +mistress of my heart, which may seem little to a cold and speculative +apprehension, but which my soul yearns to think of. My fate has not yet +received that public sanction which can alone put the finishing stroke +to my felicity. I cannot suspect, even in my most lawless flights, +the most innocent and artless of her sex of inconstancy. But how +many unexpected accidents may come between me and my happiness? How +comfortless is the thought that I can at no time say, "Now the amiable +Matilda is in health; now she dwells in peace and safety?" I receive an +account of her health, a paquet reaches me from Cosenza. Alas, it is two +tedious days from the date of the information. Into two tedious days how +many frightful events may be crowded by tyrant fancy! + + + + +Letter XV + + +_The Same to the Same_ + +_Naples_ + +I have waited, charming Matilda, with the most longing impatience in +hopes of receiving a letter from your own hand. Every post has agitated +me with suspense. My expectation has been continually raised, and as +often defeated. Many a cold and unanimated epistle has intruded +itself into my hands, when I thought to have found some token full of +gentleness and tenderness, which might have taught my heart to overflow +with rapture. If you knew, fair excellence, how much pain and uneasiness +your silence has given me, you could not surely have been so cruel. The +most rigid decorum could not have been offended by one scanty billet +that might just have informed me, I still retained a tender place in +your recollection. One solitary line would have raised me to a state of +happiness that princes might envy. + +A jealous and contracted mind placed in my situation, might fear to +undergo the imputation of selfishness and interest. He would represent +to himself, how brilliant was your station, how exalted your rank, how +splendid your revenues, and what a poor, deserted, and contemptible +figure I made in the eyes of the world, when your father first honoured +me with his attention. My Matilda were a match for princes. Her external +situation in the highest degree magnificent. Her person lovely and +engaging beyond all the beauty that Italy has to boast. Her mind +informed with the most refined judgment, the most elegant taste, the +most generous sentiments. When the dictates of prudence and virtue flow +from her beauteous lips, philosophers might listen with rapture, sages +might learn wisdom. And is it possible that this all-accomplished +woman can stoop from the dignity of her rank and the greatness of her +pretensions, to a person so obscure, so slenderly qualified as I am? + +But no, my Matilda, I am a stranger to these fears, my breast is +unvisited by the demon of suspicion. I employ no precaution. I do not +seek to constrain my passion. I lay my heart naked before you. I shall +ever maintain the most grateful sense of the benevolent friendship +of your venerable father, of your own unexampled and ravishing +condescension. But love, my amiable Matilda, knows no distinction of +rank. We cannot love without building our ardour upon the sense of a +kind of equality. All obligations must here in a manner cease but those +which are mutual. Those hearts that are sensible to the distance of +benefactor and client, are strangers to the sweetest emotions of this +amiable passion. + +But who is there that is perfectly master of his own character? Who +is there that can certainly foretel what will be his feelings and +sentiments in circumstances yet untried? Do not then, fairest, gentlest, +of thy sex, torture the lover that adores you. Do not persist in cold +and unexpressive silence. A thousand times have those lips made the +chaste confession of my happiness. A thousand times upon that hand have +I sealed my gratitude. Yet do I stand in need of fresh assurances. +Mutual attachment subsists not but in communication and sympathy. I +count the tedious moments. My wayward fancy paints in turn all the +events that are within the region of possibility. Too many of them there +are, against the apprehension of which no precaution can secure me. Do +not, my lovely Matilda, do not voluntarily increase them. Is not the +comfortless distance to which I am banished a sufficient punishment, +without adding to it those uneasinesses it is so much in your power to +remove? + + + + +Letter XVI + +_Matilda della Colonna to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +Is it possible you can put an unfavourable construction upon my silence? +You are not to be informed that it was nothing more than the simplest +dictates of modesty and decency required. I cannot believe, that if I +had offended against those dictates, it would not have sunk me a little +in your esteem. Your sex indeed is indulged with a large and extensive +licence. But in ours, my dear friend, propriety and decorum cannot be +too assiduously preserved. Our reputation is at the disposal of every +calumniator. The minutest offence can cast a shade upon it. A long and +uninterrupted course of the most spotless virtue can never restore it to +its first unsullied brightness. Many and various indeed are the steps by +which it may be tarnished, short of the sacrifice of chastity, and the +total dereliction of character. + +There is no test of gentleness and integrity of heart more obvious, +than the discharge of the filial duties. A truly mild and susceptible +disposition will sympathize in the concerns of a parent with the most +ardent affection, will be melted by his sufferings into the tenderest +sorrow. The child whose heart feels not with peculiar anguish the +distresses of him, from whom he derived his existence, to whom he owes +the most important obligations, and with whom he has been in habits +of unbounded confidence from earliest infancy, must be of a character +harsh, savage, and detestable. How can he be expected to melt over the +tale of a stranger? How can his hand be open to relief and munificence? +How can he discharge aright the offices of a family, and the duties of a +citizen? + +Recollect, my friend, never had any child a parent more gentle and +affectionate than mine. I was all his care and all his pride. He knew no +happiness but that of gratifying my desires, and outrunning my wishes. +He was my all. I have for several years, and even before I was able +properly to understand her value, lost a tender mother. In my surviving +parent then all my attachments centered. He was my protector and my +guide, he was my friend and my companion. All other connexions were +momentary and superficial. And till I knew my St. Julian, my warmest +affections never strayed from my father's roof. + +Do not however imagine, that in the moment of my sincerest sorrow, I +scarcely for one hour forget you. My sentiments have ever been the same. +They are the dictates of an upright and uncorrupted heart, and I do not +blush to own them. + +Undissipated in an extensive circle of acquaintance, untaught by the +prejudices of my education to look with a favourable eye upon the +majority of the young nobility of the present age, I saw you with a +heart unexperienced and unworn with the knowledge and corruptions of +the world. I saw you in your character totally different from the young +persons of your own rank. And the differences I discovered, were all +of them such, as recommended you to my esteem. My unguarded heart had +received impressions, even before the voice of my father had given a +sanction to my inclinations, that would not easily have been effaced. +When he gave me to you, he gave you a willing hand. Your birth is +noble and ancient as my own. Fortune has no charms for me. I have no +attachment to the brilliant circle, and the gaiety of public life. My +disposition, naturally grave and thoughtful, demands but few associates, +beside those whose hearts are in some degree in unison with my own. I +had rather live in a narrow circle united with a man, distinguished by +feeling, virtue, and truth, than be the ornament of courts, and the envy +of kingdoms. + +Previous to my closing this letter, I sent to enquire of the _maître +d'hôtel_ of the villa of the marquis, in what forwardness were his +preparations for the intended visit of his master. He informs me that +they will be finished in two days at farthest. I suppose it will not be +long from that time, before his lordship will set out from Naples. You +of course are inseparable from him. + + +END OF VOLUME I _Italian Letters_ + + + + + + +VOLUME II + + + +Letter I + +_The Marquis of Pescara to the Marquis of San Severino_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +My dear lord, + +I need not tell you that this place is celebrated for one of the most +beautiful spots of the habitable globe. Every thing now flourishes. +Nature puts on her gayest colours, and displays all her charms. The +walks among the more cultivated scenes of my own grounds, and amidst the +wilder objects of this favoured region are inexpressibly agreeable. The +society of my pensive and sentimental friend is particularly congenial +with the scenery around me. Do not imagine that I am so devoid of taste +as not to derive exquisite pleasure from these sources. Yet believe me, +there are times in which I regret the vivacity of your conversation, and +the amusements of Naples. + +Is this, my dear Ferdinand, an argument of a corrupted taste, or an +argument of sound and valuable improvement? Much may be said on both +sides. Of the mind justly polished, without verging to the squeamish and +effeminate, nature exhibits the most delightful sources of enjoyment. He +that turns aside from the simplicity of her compositions with disgust, +for the sake of the over curious and laboured entertainments of which +art is the inventor, may justly be pronounced unreasonably nice, and +ridiculously fastidious. + +But then on the other hand, the finest taste is of all others the most +easily offended. The mind most delicate and refined, requires the +greatest variety of pleasures. So much for logic. Let me tell you, +however, be it wisdom or be it folly, I owe it entirely to you. It is a +revolution in my humour, to which I was totally a stranger when I left +Palermo. + +I have not yet seen this rich and celebrated heiress of whom you told me +so much. It is several years since I remember to have been in company +where she was, and it is more than probable that I should not even know +her. If however I were to give full credit to the rhapsodies of my good +friend the count, whose description of her, by the way, has something +in it of romantic and dignified, which pleases me better than yours, as +luscious as it is, I should imagine her a perfect angel, beautiful +as Venus, chaste as Diana, majestic as the mother of the gods, and +enchanting as the graces. I know not why, but since I have studied the +persons of the fair under your tuition, I have felt the most impatient +desire to be acquainted with this _nonpareil_. + +No person however has yet been admitted into the sanctuary of the +goddess, except the person destined by the late duke to be her husband. +He himself has seen her but for a second time. It should seem, that as +many ceremonies were necessary in approaching her, as in being presented +to his holiness; and that she were as invisible as the emperor +of Ispahan. I am however differently affected by the perpetual +conversations of St. Julian upon the subject, than I am apt to think you +would be. You would probably first laugh at his extravagance, and then +be fatigued to death with his perseverance. For my part, I am agreeably +entertained with the romance of his sentiments, and highly charmed with +their disinterestedness and their virtue. + +Yes, my dear marquis, you may talk as you please of the wildness and +impracticability of the sentiments of my amiable solitaire, they are at +least in the highest degree amusing and beautiful. There is a voice +in every breast, whose feelings have not yet been entirely warped by +selfishness, responsive to them. It is in vain that the man of gaiety +and pleasure pronounces them impracticable, the generous heart gives the +lie to his assertions. He must be under the power of the poorest and +most despicable prejudices, who would reduce all human characters to a +level, who would deny the reality of all those virtues that the world +has idolized through revolving ages. Nothing can be disputed with +less plausibility, than that there are in the world certain noble and +elevated spirits, that rise above the vulgar notions and the narrow +conduct of the bulk of mankind, that soar to the sublimest heights of +rectitude, and from time to time realize those virtues, of which the +interested and illiberal deny the possibility. + +I can no more doubt, than I do of the truth of these apothegms, that the +count de St. Julian is one of these honourable characters. He treads +without the airy circle of dissipation. He is invulnerable to the +temptations of folly; he is unshaken by the examples of profligacy. +They are such characters as his that were formed to rescue mankind from +slavery, to prop the pillars of a declining state, and to arrest Astraea +in her re-ascent to heaven. They are such characters whose virtues +surprize astonished mortals, and avert the vengeance of offended heaven. + +Matilda della Colonna is, at least in the apprehension of her admirer, a +character quite as singular in her own sex as his can possibly appear to +me. They were made for each other. She is the only adequate reward that +can be bestowed upon his exalted virtues. Oh, my Ferdinand, there must +be a happiness reserved for such as these, which must make all other +felicity comparatively weak and despicable. It is the accord of the +purest sentiments. It is the union of guiltless souls. Its nature is +totally different from that of the casual encounter of the sexes, or +the prudent conjunctions in which the heart has no share. In the +considerations upon which it is founded, corporeal fitnesses occupy but +a narrow and subordinate rank, personal advantages and interest are +admitted for no share. It is the sympathy of hearts, it is the most +exalted species of social intercourse. + + + +Letter II + +_The Count de St. Julian to Signor Hippolito Borelli_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +My dear Hippolito, + +I have already acquainted you as they occurred, with those +circumstances, which have introduced so incredible an alteration in my +prospects and my fortune. From being an outcast of the world, a young +man without protectors, a nobleman without property, a lover despairing +ever to possess the object of his vows, I am become the most favoured +of mortals, the happiest of mankind. There is no character that I envy, +there is no situation for which I would exchange my own. My felicity is +of the colour of my mind; my prospects are those, for the fruition of +which heaven created me. What have I done to deserve so singular a +blessing? Is it possible that no wayward fate, no unforeseen and +tremendous disaster should come between me and my happiness? + +My Matilda is the most amiable of women. Every day she improves upon +me. Every day I discover new attractions in this inexhaustible mine of +excellence. Never was a character so simple, artless and undisguised. +Never was a heart so full of every tender sensibility. How does her +filial sorrow adorn, and exalt her? How ravishing is that beauty, that +is embellished with melancholy, and impearled with tears? + +Even when I suffer most from the unrivalled delicacy of her sentiments, +I cannot but admire. Ah, cruel Matilda, and will not one banishment +satisfy the inflexibility of thy temper, will not all my past sufferings +suffice to glut thy severity? Is it still necessary that the happiness +of months must be sacrificed to the inexorable laws of decorum? Must I +seek in distant climes a mitigation of my fate? Yes, too amiable tyrant, +thou shalt be obeyed. It will be less punishment to be separated from +thee by mountains crowned with snow, by impassable gulphs, by boundless +oceans, than to reside in the same city, or even under the same roof, +and not be permitted to see those ravishing beauties, to hear that sweet +expressive voice. + +You know, my dear Hippolito, the unspeakable obligations I have received +from my amiable friend, the marquis of Pescara. Though these obligations +can never be fully discharged, yet I am happy to have met with an +opportunity of demonstrating the gratitude that will ever burn in my +heart. My Rinaldo even rates the service I have undertaken to perform +for him beyond its true value. Would it were in my power to serve him as +greatly, as essentially as I wish! + +The estate of the house of Pescara in Castile is very considerable. +Though it has been in the possession of the noble ancestors of my friend +for near two centuries, yet, by the most singular fortune, there has +lately arisen a claimant to more than one half of it. His pleas, though +destitute of the smallest plausibility, are rendered formidable by the +possession he is said to have of the patronage and favour of the first +minister. In a word, it is become absolutely necessary for his lordship +in person, or some friend upon whose integrity and discretion he can +place the firmest dependence, to solicit his cause in the court of +Madrid. The marquis himself is much disinclined to the voyage, and +though he had too much delicacy in his own temper, and attachment to my +interest, to propose it himself, I can perceive that he is not a little +pleased at my having voluntarily undertaken it. + +My disposition is by nature that of an insatiable curiosity. I was not +born to be confined within the narrow limits of one island, or one +petty kingdom. My heart is large and capacious. It rises above local +prejudices; it forms to itself a philosophy equally suited to all the +climates of the earth; it embraces the whole human race. The majority +of my countrymen entertain the most violent aversion for the Spanish +nation. For my own part I can perceive in them many venerable and +excellent qualities. Their friendship is inviolable, their politeness +and hospitality of the most disinterested nature. Their honour is +unimpeached, and their veracity without example. Even from those traits +in their character, that appear the most absurd, or that are too often +productive of the most fatal consequences, I expect to derive amusement +and instruction. I doubt not, however pure be my flame for Matilda, that +the dissipation and variety of which this voyage will be productive, +will be friendly to my ease. I shall acquire wisdom and experience. I +shall be better prepared to fill up that most arduous of all characters, +the respectable and virtuous father of a family. + +In spite however of all these considerations, with which I endeavour to +console myself in the chagrin that preys upon my mind, the approaching +separation cannot but be in the utmost degree painful to me. In spite of +the momentary fortitude, that tells me that any distance is better than +the being placed within the reach of the mistress of my soul without +being once permitted to see her, I cannot help revolving with the most +poignant melancholy, the various and infinitely diversified objects that +shall shortly divide us. Repeatedly have I surveyed with the extremest +anguish the chart of those seas that I am destined to pass. I have +measured for the twentieth time the course that is usually held in this +voyage. Every additional league appears to me a new barrier between me +and my wishes, that I fear to be able to surmount a second time. + +And is it possible that I can leave my Matilda without a guardian to +protect her from unforeseen distress, without a monitor to whisper +to her in every future scene the constancy of her St. Julian? No, my +Hippolito, the objection would be insuperable. But thanks, eternal +thanks to propitious heaven! I have a friend in whom I can confide as my +own soul, whose happiness is dearer to me than my own. Yes, my Rinaldo, +whatever may be my destiny, in whatever scenes I may be hereafter +placed, I will recollect that my Matilda is under thy protection, and be +satisfied. I will recollect the obligations you have already conferred +upon me, and I will not hesitate to add to them that, which is greater +than them all. + + + +Letter III + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Naples_ + +Best of friends, + +Every thing is now prepared for my voyage. The ship will weigh anchor in +two days at farthest. This will be the last letter you will receive from +me before I bid adieu to Italy. + +I have not yet shaken off the melancholy with which the affecting leave +I took of the amiable Matilda impressed me. Never will the recollection +be effaced from my memory. It was then, my Rinaldo, that she laid aside +that delicate reserve, that lovely timidity, which she had hitherto +exhibited. It was then that she poured forth, without restraint, all the +ravishing tenderness of her nature. How affecting were those tears? How +heart-rending the sighs that heaved her throbbing bosom? When will those +tender exclamations cease to vibrate in my ear? When will those piercing +cries give over their task, the torturing this constant breast? You, my +friend, were witness to the scene, and though a mere spectator, I am +mistaken if it did not greatly affect you. + +Hear me, my Rinaldo, and let my words sink deep into your bosom. Into +your hands I commit the most precious jewel that was ever intrusted to +the custody of a friend. You are the arbiter of my fate. More, much more +than my life is in your disposal. If you should betray me, you will +commit a crime, that laughs to scorn the frivolity of all former +baseness. You will inflict upon me a torture, in comparison of which all +the laborious punishments that tyrants have invented, are couches of +luxury, are beds of roses. + +Forgive me, my friend, the paroxysm of a lover's rage. I should deserve +all the punishments it would be in your power to inflict, if I harboured +the remotest suspicion of your fidelity. No, I swear by all that is +sacred, it is my richest treasure, it is my choicest consolation. +Wherever I am, I will bear it about with me. In every reverse of fortune +I will regard it as the surest pledge of my felicity. Mountains shall +be hurled from their eternal bases, lofty cities shall be crumbled into +dust, but my Rinaldo shall never be false. + +It is this consideration that can only support me. The trials I undergo +are too great for the most perfect fortitude. I quit a treasure that the +globe in its inexhausted variety never equalled. I retire to a distance, +where months may intervene ere the only intelligence that can give +pleasure to my heart, shall reach me. I shall count however with the +most unshaken security upon my future happiness. Walls of brass, and +bars of iron could not give me that assured peace. + + + +Letter IV + +_Matilda della Colonna to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +Why is it, my friend, that you are determined to fly to so immense +a distance? You call me cruel, you charge me with unfeelingness and +inflexibility, and yet to my prayers you are deaf, to my intreaties you +are inexorable. + +I have satisfied all the claims of decorum. I have fulfilled with rigid +exactness the laws of decency. One advantage you at least gain by the +distance you are so desirous to place between us. My sentiments are less +guarded. Reputation and modesty have fewer claims upon a woman, who can +have no intercourse with her lover but by letter. My feelings are less +restrained. For the anxiety, which distance inspires, awakens all the +tenderness of my nature, and raises a tempest in my soul that will not +be controled. + +Oh, my St. Julian, till this late and lasting separation, I did not know +all the affection I bore you. Ever since you were parted from my aching +eyes, I have not known the serenity of a moment. The image of my friend +has been the constant companion of my waking hours, and has visited me +again in my dreams. The unknown dangers of the ocean swell in my eyes to +ten times their natural magnitude. Fickle and inconstant enemy, how +much I dread thee! Oh wast the lord of all my wishes in safety to the +destined harbour! May all the winds be still! May the tempests forget +their wonted rage! May every guardian power protect his voyage! Open +not, oh ocean, thy relentless bosom to yield him a watery grave! For +once be gentle and auspicious! Listen and grant a lover's prayer! +Restore him to my presence! May the dear sight of him once more refresh +these longing eyes! You will find this letter accompanied with a small +parcel, in which I have inclosed the miniature of myself, which I +have often heard you praise as a much better likeness than the larger +pictures. It will probably afford you some gratification during that +absence of which you so feelingly complain. It will suggest to you those +thoughts upon the subject of our love that have most in them of the calm +and soothing. It will be no unpleasant companion of your reveries, and +may sometimes amuse and cheat your deluded fancy. + + + +Letter V + +_The Answer_ + +_Alicant_ + +I am just arrived at this place, after a tedious and disagreeable +voyage. As we passed along the coast of Barbary we came in sight of many +of the corsairs with which that part of the world is infested. One of +them in particular, of larger burden than the rest, gave us chace, and +for some time we thought ourselves in considerable danger. Our ship +however proved the faster sailer, and quickly carried us out of sight. +Having escaped this danger, and nearly reached the Baleares, we were +overtaken by a tremendous storm. For some days the ship was driven at +the mercy of the winds; and, as the coast of those islands is surrounded +with invisible rocks, our peril was considerable. + +In the midst of danger however my thoughts were full of Matilda. Had the +ocean buried me in its capacious bosom, my last words would have been of +you, my last vows would have been made for your happiness. Had we been +taken by the enemy and carried into slavery, slavery would have had no +terrors, but those which consisted in the additional bars it would have +created between me and the mistress of my heart. It would have been of +little importance whether I had fallen to the lot of a despot, gentle or +severe. It would have separated us for years, perhaps for ever. Could I, +who have been so much afflicted by the separation of a few months, have +endured a punishment like this? That soft intercourse, that wafts the +thoughts of lovers to so vast a distance, that mimics so well an actual +converse, that cheats the weary heart of all its cares, would have been +dissolved for ever. Little then would have been the moment of a few +petty personal considerations; I should not long have survived. + +I only wait at this place to refresh myself for a few days, from a +fatigue so perfectly new to me, and then shall set out with all speed +for Madrid. My Matilda will readily believe that that business which +detains me at so vast a distance from my happiness, will be dispatched +with as much expedition as its nature will admit. I will not sacrifice +to any selfish considerations the interest of my friend, I will not +neglect the minutest exertion by which it may be in my power to serve +his cause. But the moment I have discharged what I owe to him, no power +upon earth shall delay my return, no not for an hour. + +I have seen little as yet of that people of whom I have entertained +so favourable ideas. But what I have seen has perfectly equalled my +expectation. Their carriage indeed is cold and formal, beyond what it is +possible for any man to have a conception of, who has not witnessed it. +But those persons to whom I had letters have received me with the utmost +attention and politeness. Sincerity is visible in all they do, and +constancy in all their modes of thinking. There is not a man among them, +who has once distinguished you, and whose favour it is possible for you +to forfeit without having deserved it. Will not an upright and honest +mind pardon many defects to a virtue like this? + +Oh, my Matilda, shall I recommend to you to remember your St. Julian, to +carry the thoughts of him every where about with you? Shall I make to +you a thousand vows of unalterable attachment? No, best of women, I will +not thus insult the integrity of your heart. I will not thus profane +the purity of our loves. The world in all its treasure has not a second +Matilda, and if it had, my heart is fixed, all the tender sensibilities +of my soul are exhausted. Your St. Julian was not made to change with +every wind. + + + +Letter VI + +_Matilda della Colonna to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +I begin this letter without having yet received any news from you since +you quitted the port of Naples. The time however that was requisite for +that purpose is already more than expired. Oh, my friend, if before +the commencement of this detested voyage, the dangers that attended it +appeared to me in so horrid colours, how think you that I support +them now? My imagination sickens, my poor heart is distracted at the +recollection of them. Why would you encounter so many unnecessary +perils? Why would you fly to so remote a climate? Many a friend could +have promoted equally well the interests of the marquis of Pescara, but +few lives are so valuable as thine. Many a friend could have solicited +this business in the court of Madrid, but believe me, there are few +that can boast that they possessed the heart of a Matilda. Simple and +sincere, I do not give myself away by halves. With a heart full of +tenderness and sensibility, I am affected more, much more than the +generality of my sex, with circumstances favourable or adverse. Ah +cruel, cruel St. Julian, was it for a lover to turn a deaf ear to the +intreaties of a mistress, that lived not but to honour his virtues, and +to sympathize in his felicity? Did I not for you lay aside that triple +delicacy and reserve, in which I prided myself? Were not my sighs and +tears visible and undisguised? Did not my cries pierce the lofty dome of +my paternal mansion, and move all hearts but yours? + +They tell me, my St. Julian, that I am busy to torment myself, that I +invent a thousand imaginary misfortunes. And is this to torment myself +to address my friend in these poor lines? Is this to deceive myself with +unreal evils? Even while Matilda cherishes the fond idea of pouring +out her complaints before him, my St. Julian may be a lifeless corse. +Perhaps he now lies neglected and unburied in the beds of the ocean. +Perhaps he has fallen a prey to barbarous men, more deaf and merciless +than the warring elements. Distracting ideas! And does this head live to +conceive them? Is this hand dull and insensible enough to write them? + +Believe me, my friend, my heart is tender and will easily break. It was +not formed to sustain a series of trials. It was not formed to encounter +a variety of distress. Oh, fly then, hasten to my arms. All those ideas +of form and decency, all the artificial decorums of society that I once +cherished, are dissolved before the darker reflections, the apprehensive +anxieties that your present situation has awakened. Yes, my St. Julian, +come to my arms. The moment you appear to claim me I am yours. Adieu to +the management of my sex. From this moment I commit all my concerns +to your direction. From this moment, your word shall be to me an +irrevocable law, which without reasoning, and without refinement, I will +implicitly obey. + + * * * * * + +I have received your letter. The pleasure it affords me is exquisite in +proportion to my preceding anguish. From the confession of the bravest +of men it now appears that my apprehensions were not wholly unfounded. +And yet upon reviewing what I have written, I almost blush for my +weakness. But it shall not be effaced. Disguise is little becoming +between lovers at so immense a distance. No, my friend, you shall know +all the interest you possess in my heart. I will at least afford you +that consolation amidst the pangs of absence. May heaven be propitious +in what yet remains before you! I will even weary it with my prayers. +May it return you to my arms safe and unhurt, and no other calamity +shall wring from me a murmur, or a sigh! + +One thing however it is necessary I should correct. I do not mean to +accuse you for the voyage you have undertaken, however it may distress +me. In my calmer moments I feel for the motives of it the warmest +approbation. It was the act of disinterested friendship. Every prejudice +of the heart pleaded against it. Love, that passion which reigns without +a rival in your breast, forbad the compliance. It was a virtue worthy +of you. There needed but this to convince me that you were infinitely +superior to the whole race of your fellow mortals. + + + + +Letter VII + +_The Answer_ + +_Buen Retiro_ + +Ten thousand thanks to the most amiable of women for the letter that has +just fallen into my hands. Yes, Matilda, if my heart were pierced on +every side with darts, and my life's blood seemed ready to follow every +one of them, your enchanting epistle would be balm to all my wounds, +would sooth all my cares. Tenderest, gentlest of dispositions, where +ever burned a love whose flame was pure as thine? Where ever was truth +that could vie with the truth of Matilda? Hereafter when the worthless +and the profligate exclaim upon the artifices of thy sex, when the lover +disappointed, wrung with anguish, imprecates curses on the kind, name +but Matilda, and every murmur shall be hushed; name but Matilda, and +the universal voice of nature shall confess that the female form is the +proper residence, the genuine temple of angelic goodness. + +I had upon the whole a most agreeable journey from Alicant to Madrid. It +would be superfluous to describe to a mind so well informed as yours, +the state of the country. You know how thin is its population, and how +indolent is the character of its inhabitants. Satisfied with possessing +the inexhaustible mines of Mexico and Peru, they imagine that the world +was made for them, that the rest of mankind were destined to labour that +they might be maintained in supineness and idleness. The experience of +more than two centuries has not been able to convince them of their +error, and amidst all their poverty, they still retain as much pride +as ever. The country however is naturally luxuriant and delicious; and +there are a considerable number of prospects in the provinces through +which I have passed that will scarcely yield to any that Italy has to +boast. As soon as I arrived at the metropolis I took up my residence at +this place, which is inexpressibly crowded with the residences of the +nobility and grandees. It is indeed one of the most beautiful spots in +nature, as it concentres at once the simplest rusticity with the utmost +elegance of refinement and society. My reception has been in the highest +degree flattering, and I please myself with the idea that I have already +made some progress in the business of the marquis of Pescara. + +You are not insensible that my character, at least in some of its +traits, is not uncongenial to that of a Spaniard. Whether it be owing to +this or any other cause I know not, but I believe never was any man, so +obscure as myself, distinguished in so obliging a manner by the first +personages in the kingdom. In return I derive from their society the +utmost satisfaction. Their lofty notions of honour, their gravity, their +politeness, and their sentimental way of thinking, have something in +them that affords me infinite entertainment and pleasure. Oh, Matilda, +how much more amiable is that character, that carries the principles +of honour and magnanimity to a dangerous extreme, than that which +endeavours to level all distinctions of mankind, and would remove and +confound the eternal barriers of virtue and vice! + +One of the most agreeable connexions I have made is with the duke of +Aranda. The four persons of whom his family is composed, his grace, the +duchess, their son and daughter, are all of them characters extremely +interesting and amiable. The lady Isabella is esteemed the first beauty +of the court of Madrid. The young count is tall, graceful, and manly, +with a fire and expression in his fine blue eyes beyond any thing I +ever saw. He has all the vivacity and enterprize of youth, without the +smallest tincture of libertinism and dissipation. I know not how it is, +but I find myself perfectly unable to describe his character without +running into paradox. He is at once serious and chearful. His +seriousness is so full of enthusiasm and originality, that it is the +most unlike in the world to the cold dogmatism of pedantry, or the +turgid and monotonous stile of the churchman. His chearfulness is not +the gaiety of humour, is not the brilliancy of wit, it is the result of +inexhaustible fancy and invincible spirit. In a word, I never met with +a character that interested me so much at first sight, and were it not +that I am bound by insuperable ties to my native soil, it would be the +first ambition of my heart to form with him the ties of an everlasting +friendship. + +Once more, my Matilda, adieu. You are under the protection of the most +generous of men, and the best of friends. I owe to the marquis of +Pescara, a thousand obligations that can never be compensated. Let it be +thy care thou better half of myself to receive him with that attention +and politeness, which is due to the worth of his character, and the +immensity of his friendship. There is something too sweet and enchanting +in the mild benevolence of Matilda, not to contribute largely to +his happiness. It is in your power, best of women, by the slightest +exertions, to pay him more than I could do by a life of labour. + + + +Letter VIII + +_The Same to the Same_ + + +_Buen Retiro_ + +I little thought during so distressing a period of absence, to have +written you a letter so gay and careless as my last. I confess indeed +the societies of this place afforded me so much entertainment, that in +the midst of generous friendship and unmerited kindness, I almost forgot +the anguish of a lover, and the pains of banishment. + +Alas, how dearly am I destined to pay for the most short-lived +relaxation! Every pleasure is now vanished, and I can scarcely believe +that it ever existed. I enter into the same societies, I frequent the +same scenes, and I wonder what it was that once entertained me. Yes, +Matilda, the enchantment is dissolved. All the gay colours that anon +played upon the objects around me, are fled. Chaos is come again. The +world is become all dreary solitude and impenetrable darkness. I am like +the poor mariner, whose imagination was for a moment caught with the +lofty sound of the thunder, round whom the sheeted lightning gilded the +foaming waves, and who then sinks for ever in the abyss. + +It is now four eternal months, and not one line from the hand of Matilda +has blessed these longing eyes, or cooled my burning brain. Opportunity +after opportunity has slipped away, one moment swelled with hope has +succeeded another, but to no purpose. The mail has not been more +constant to its place of destination than myself. But it was all +disappointment. It was in vain that I raged with unmeaning fury, and +demanded that with imprecation which was not to be found. Every calm was +misery to me. Every tempest tore my tortured heart a thousand ways. For +some time every favourable wind was balm to my soul, and nectar to my +burning frame. But it is over now--. How, how is it that I am to account +for this astonishing silence? Has nature changed her eternal laws, and +is Matilda false? Has she forgotten the poor St. Julian, upon whom she +once bestowed her tenderness with unstinted prodigality? Can that angel +form hide the foulest thoughts? Have those untasted lips abjured their +virgin vows? And has that hand been given to another? Hence green-eyed +jealousy, accursed fiend, with all thy train of black suspicions! No, +thou shall not find a moment's harbour in my breast. I will none of +thee. It were treason to the chastest of hearts, it were sacrilege to +the divinest form that ever visited this lower world, but to admit the +possibility of Matilda's infidelity. + +And where, ah where, shall I take refuge from these horrid thoughts? To +entertain them were depravity were death. I fly from them, and where is +it that I find myself? Surrounded by a thousand furies. Oh, gracious and +immaculate providence, why hast thou opened so many doors to tremendous +mischief? Innumerable accidents of nature may tear her from me for ever. +All the wanton brutalities that history records, and that the minds of +unworthy men can harbour, start up in dreadful array before me. + +Cruel and inflexible Matilda! thou once wert bounteous as the hand of +heaven, wert tender as the new born babe. What is it that has changed +thy disposition to the hard, the wanton, the obdurate? Behold a lover's +tears! Behold how low thou hast sunk him, whom thou once didst dignify +by the sweet and soothing name of _thy friend_! If ever the voice +of anguish found a passage to your heart, if those cheeks were ever +moistened with the drops of sacred pity, oh, hear me now! But I will +address myself to the rocks. I will invoke the knotted oaks and the +savage wolves of the forest. They will not refuse my cry, but Matilda is +deaf as the winds, inexorable as the gaping wave. + +In the state of mind in which I am, you will naturally suppose that I +am full of doubt and irresolution. Twice have I resolved to quit the +kingdom of Spain without delay, and to leave the business of friendship +unfinished. But I thank God these thoughts were of no long duration. No, +Matilda, let me be set up as a mark for the finger of scorn, let me be +appointed by heaven as a victim upon which to exhaust all its arrows. +Let me be miserable, but let me never, never deserve to be so. +Affliction, thou mayest beat upon my heart in one eternal storm! +Trouble, thou mayest tear this frame like a whirlwind! But never shall +all thy terrors shake my constant mind, or teach me to swerve for a +moment from the path I have marked out to myself! All other consolation +may be taken from me, but from the bulwark of innocence and integrity I +will never be separated. + + + +Letter IX + +_The Marquis of Pescara to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +I can never sufficiently thank you for the indefatigable friendship you +have displayed in the whole progress of my Spanish affairs. I have just +received a letter from the first minister of that court, by which I am +convinced that it cannot be long before they be terminated in the most +favourable manner. I scarcely know how, after all the obligations you +have conferred upon me, to intreat that you would complete them, by +paying a visit to Zamora before you quit the kingdom, and putting my +affairs there in some train, which from the negligence incident to a +disputed title, can scarcely fail to be in disorder. + +Believe me there is nothing for which I have more ardently longed, than +to clasp you once again in my arms. The additional procrastination which +this new journey will create, cannot be more afflicting to you than it +is to me. Abridge then, I intreat you, as much as possible, those delays +which are in some degree inevitable, and let me have the agreeable +surprize of holding my St. Julian to my breast before I imagined I had +reason to expect his return. + + + +Letter X + +_The Answer_ + + +_Zamora_ + +My dear lord, + +It is with the utmost pleasure that I have it now in my power to assure +you that your affair is finally closed at the court of Madrid, in a +manner the most advantageous and honourable to your name and family. You +will perceive from the date of this letter that I had no need of the +request you have made in order to remind me of my duty to my friend. +I was no sooner able to quit the capital with propriety, than I +immediately repaired hither. The derangement however of your affairs at +this place is greater than either of us could have imagined, and it +will take a considerable time to reduce them to that order, which shall +render them most beneficial to the peasant, and most productive to the +lord. + +The employment which I find at this place, serves in some degree to +dissipate the anguish of my mind. It is an employment embellished +by innocence, and consecrated by friendship. It is therefore of all +pursuits that which has the greatest tendency to lull the sense of +misery. + +Rinaldo, I had drawn the pangs of absence with no flattering pencil. I +had expressed them in the most harsh and aggravated colours. But dark +and gloomy as were the prognostics I had formed to myself, they, alas, +were but shadows of what was reserved for me. The event laughs to scorn +the conceptions I had entertained. Explain to me, best, most faithful of +friends, for you only can, what dark and portentous meaning is concealed +beneath the silence of Matilda. So far from your present epistle +assisting the conjectures of my madding brain, it bewilders me more +than ever. My friend dates his letter from the very place in which she +resides, and yet by not a single word does he inform me how, and what +she is. + +It is now six tedious months since a single line has reached me from her +hand. I have expostulated with the voice of apprehension, with the voice +of agony, but to no purpose. Had it not been for the tenfold obligation +in which I am bound to the best of friends, I had long, very long ere +this, deserted the kingdom of Spain for ever. The concerns of no man +upon earth, but those of my Rinaldo, could have detained me. Had they +related to myself alone, I had not wasted a thought on them. And yet +here I am at a greater distance from the centre of my solicitude than +ever. + +You, my friend, know not the exquisite and inexpressible anguish of a +mind, in doubt about that in which he is most interested. I have not the +most solitary and slender clue to guide me through the labyrinth. All +the events, all the calamities that may have overtaken me, are alike +probable and improbable, and there is not one of them that I can invent, +which can possibly have escaped the knowledge of that friend, into whose +hands I committed my all. Sickness, infidelity, death itself, all the +misfortunes to which humanity is heir, are alike certain and palpable. + +Oh, my Rinaldo, it was a most ill-judged and mistaken indulgence, that +led you to suppress the story of my disaster. Give me to know it. It may +be distressful, it may be tremendous. But be it as it will, there is +not a misfortune in the whole catalogue of human woes, the knowledge of +which would not be elysium to what I suffer. To be told the whole is +to know the worst. Time is the medicine of every anguish. There is no +malady incident to a conscious being, which if it does not annihilate +his existence, does not, after having attained a crisis, insensibly fall +away and dissolve. But apprehension, apprehension is hell itself. It +is infinite as the range of possibility. It is immortal as the mind +in which it takes up its residence. It gains ground every moment. +Compounded as it is of hope and fear, there is not a moment in which +it does not plume the wings of expectation. It prepares for itself +incessant, eternal disappointment. It grows for ever. At first it may +be trifling and insignificant, but anon it swells its giant limbs, and +hides its head among the clouds. + +Lost as I am to the fate, the character, the present dispositions of +Matilda, I have now no prop to lean upon but you. Upon you I place an +unshaken confidence. In your fidelity I can never be deceived. I owe you +greater obligations than ever man received from man before. When I was +forlorn and deserted by all the world, it was then you flew to save me. +You left the blandishments that have most power over the unsuspecting +mind of youth, you left the down of luxury, to search me out. It was you +that saved my life in the forest of Leontini. They were your generous +offers that afforded me the first specimens of that benevolence and +friendship, which restored me from the annihilation into which I was +plunged, to an existence more pleasant and happy than I had yet known. + +Rinaldo, I committed to your custody a jewel more precious than all the +treasures of the east. I have lost, I am deprived of her. Where shall I +seek her? In what situation, under what character shall I discover her? +Believe me, I have not in all the paroxysms of grief, entertained a +doubt of you. I have not for a moment suffered an expression of blame to +escape my lips. But may I not at least know from you, what it is that +has effected this strange alteration, to what am I to trust, and what is +the fate that I am to expect for the remainder of an existence of which +I am already weary? + +Yes, my dear marquis, life is now a burden to me. There is nothing but +the dear business of friendship, and the employment of disinterested +affection that could make it supportable. Accept at least this last +exertion of your St. Julian. His last vows shall be breathed for your +happiness. Fate, do what thou wilt me, but shower down thy choicest +blessings on my friend! Whatever thou deniest to my sincere exertions in +the cause of rectitude, bestow a double portion upon that artless and +ingenuous youth, who, however misguided for a moment, has founded even +upon the basis of error, a generous return and an heroic resolution, +which the most permanent exertions of spotless virtue scarce can equal! + + + +Letter XI + +_Signor Hippolito Borelli to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Palermo_ + +My dear lord, + +I have often heard it repeated as an observation of sagacity and +experience, that when one friend has a piece of disagreeable +intelligence to disclose to another, it is better to describe it +directly, and in simple terms, than to introduce it with that kind of +periphrasis and circumlocution, which oftener tends to excite a vague +and impatient horror in the reader, than to prepare him to bear his +misfortune with decency and fortitude. There are however no rules of +this kind that do not admit of exceptions, and I am too apprehensive +that the subject of my present letter may be classed among those +exceptions. St. Julian, I have a tale of horror to unfold! Lay down the +fatal scrowl at this place, and collect all the dignity and resolution +of your mind. You will stand in need of it. Fertile and ingenious as +your imagination often is in tormenting itself, I will defy you to +conceive an event more big with horror, more baleful and tremendous in +all its consequences. + +My friend, I have taken up my pen twenty times, and laid it down as +often again, uncertain in what manner to break my intelligence, and +where I ought to begin. I have been undetermined whether to write to you +at all, or to leave you to learn the disaster and your fate, as fortune +shall direct. It is an ungrateful and unpleasant task. Numbers would +exclaim upon it as imprudence and folly. I might at least suspend the +consummation of your affliction a little longer, and leave you a little +longer to the enjoyment of a deceitful repose. + +But I am terrified at the apprehension of how this news may overtake you +at last. I have always considered the count de St. Julian as one of the +most amiable of mankind. I have looked up to him as a model of virtue, +and I have exulted that I had the honour to be of the same species with +so fair a fame, and so true a heart. I would willingly lighten to a +man so excellent the load of calamity. Why is it, that heaven in +the mysteriousness of its providence, so often visits with superior +affliction, the noblest of her sons? I should be truly sorry, that my +friend should act in a manner unworthy of the tenor of his conduct, and +the exaltation of his character. You are now, my lord at a distance. You +have time to revolve the various circumstances of your condition, and to +fix with the coolest and most mature deliberation the conduct you shall +determine to hold. + +I remember in how pathetic a manner you complained, in the last letter +I received from you before you quitted Italy, of the horrors of +banishment. Little did my friend then know the additional horrors that +fate had in store for him. Two persons there were whom you loved above +all the world, in whom you placed the most unbounded confidence. My poor +friend would never have left Italy but to oblige his Rinaldo, would +never have quitted the daughter of the duke of Benevento, if he could +not have intrusted her to the custody of his Rinaldo. What then will be +his astonishment when he learns that two months have now elapsed since +the heiress of this illustrious house has assumed the title of the +marchioness of Pescara? + +Since this extraordinary news first reached me, I have employed some +pains to discover the means by which an event so surprising has been +effected. I have hitherto however met with a very partial success. There +hangs over it all the darkness of mystery, and all the cowardice of +guilt. There cannot be any doubt that that friend, whom for so long a +time you cherished in your bosom, has proved the most detestable of +villains, the blot and the deformity of the human character. How far the +marchioness has been involved in his guilt, I am not able to ascertain. +Surely however the fickleness and inconstancy of her conduct cannot +be unstained with the pollution of depravity. After the most diligent +search I have learned a report, which was at that time faintly whispered +at Cosenza, that you were upon the point of marriage with the only +daughter of the duke of Aranda. Whether any inferences can be built upon +so trivial a foundation I am totally ignorant. + +But might I be permitted to advise you, you ought to cast these base and +dishonourable characters from your heart for ever. The marquis is surely +unworthy of your sword. He ought not to die, but in a manner deeply +stamped with the infamy in which he has lived. I will not pretend to +alledge to a person so thoroughly master of every question of this +kind, how poor and inadequate is such a revenge: what a barbarous and +unmeaning custom it is, that thus puts the life of the innocent and +injured in the scale with that of the destroyer, and leaves the decision +of immutable differences to skill, to fortune, and a thousand trivial +and contemptible circumstances. You are not to be told how much more +there is of true heroism in refusing than in giving a challenge, in +bearing an injury with superiority and virtuous fortitude, than in +engaging in a Gothic and savage revenge. + +It is not easy perhaps to find a woman, deserving enough to be united +for life to the fate of my friend. Certain I am, if I may be permitted +to deliver my sentiments, there is a levity and folly conspicuous in the +temper of her you have lost, that renders her unworthy of being lamented +by a man of discernment and sobriety. What to desert without management +and without regret, one to whom she had vowed eternal constancy, a man, +of whose amiable character, and glorious qualities she had so many +opportunities of being convinced? Oh, shame where is thy blush? If +iniquity like this, walks the world with impunity, where is the vice +that shall be branded with infamy, to deter the most daring and +profligate offender? Let us state the transaction in a light the most +favourable to the fair inconstant. What thin veil, what paltry arts +were employed by this mighty politician to confound and mislead an +understanding, clear and penetrating upon all other subjects, blind and +feeble only upon that in which the happiness of her life was involved? + +My St. Julian, the exertion of that fortitude with which nature has so +richly endowed you, was never so completely called for in any other +instance. This is the crisis of your life. This is the very tide, which +accordingly as it is improved or neglected, will give a colour to all +your future story. Let not that amiable man, who has found the art of +introducing heroism into common life, and dignifying the most trivial +circumstances by the sublimity and refinedness of his sentiments, now, +in the most important affair, sink below the common level. Now is the +time to display the true greatness of your mind. Now is the time to +prove the consistency of your character. + +A mind, destitute of resources, and unendowed with that elasticity which +is the badge of an immortal nature, when placed in your circumstances, +might probably sink into dereliction and despair. Here in the moral and +useful point of view would be placed the termination of their course. +What a different prospect does the future life of my St. Julian suggest +to me? I see him rising superior to misfortune. I see him refined +like silver from, the furnace. His affections and his thoughts, being +detached by calamity from all consideration of self, he lays out his +exertions in acts of benevolence. His life is one tissue of sympathy and +compassion. He is an extensive benefit to mankind. His influence, like +that of the sun, cheers the hopeless, and illuminates the desolate. How +necessary are such characters as these, to soften the rigour of the +sublunary scene, and to stamp an impression of dignity on the degeneracy +of the human character? + + + +Letter XII [A] + +_Matilda della Colonna to the Count de St. Julian_ + +_Cosenza_ + +I rise from a bed, which you have surrounded with the severest +misfortunes, to address myself to you in this billet. It is in vain, +that in conformity to the dull round of custom, I seek the couch of +repose, sleep is for ever fled from my eyes. I seek it on every side, +but on swift wings it flits far, very far, from me. It is now the +dead of night. All eyes are closed but mine. The senses of all other +creatures through the universe of God, are steeped in forgetfulness. Oh, +sweet, oblivious power, when wilt thou come to my assistance, when wilt +thou shed thy poppies upon this distracted head! + +There was a time, when no human creature was so happy as the now forlorn +Matilda. My days were full of gaiety and innocence. My thoughts were +void of guile, and I imagined all around me artless as myself. I was by +nature indeed weak and timid, trembling at every leaf, shuddering with +apprehension of the lightest danger. But I had a protector generous +and brave, that spread his arms over me, like the wide branches of a +venerable oak, and round whom I clung, like ivy on the trunk. Why didst +thou come, like a cold and murderous blight, to blast all my hopes of +happiness, and to shatter my mellow hangings? + +I have often told you that my heart was not tough and inflexible, to +be played upon with a thousand experiments, and encounter a thousand +trials. But you would not believe me. You could not think my frame +was so brittle and tender, and my heart so easily broken. Inexorable, +incredulous man! you shall not be long in doubt. You shall soon perceive +that I may not endure much more. + +[Footnote A: This letter was written several months earlier than the +preceding, but was intercepted by the marquis of Pescara.] + +How could you deceive me so entirely? I loved you with the sincerest +affection. I thought you artless as truth, as free from vice and folly +as etherial spirits. When your hypocrisy was the most consummate, your +countenance had then in my eye, most the air of innocence. Your visage +was clear and open as the day. But it was a cloak for the blackest +thoughts and the most complicated designs. You stole upon me unprepared, +you found all the avenues to my heart, and you made yourself the arbiter +of my happiness before I was aware. + +You hear me, thou arch impostor! There are punishments reserved for +those, who undermine the peace of virtue, and steal away the tranquility +of innocence. This is thy day. Now thou laughest at all my calamity, +thou mockest all my anguish. But do not think that thy triumph shall be +for ever. That thought would be fond and false as mine have been. The +empire of rectitude shall one day be vindicated. Matilda shall one day +rise above thee. + +But perhaps, St. Julian, it is not yet too late. The door is yet open to +thy return. My claim upon thy heart is prior, better every way than +that of donna Isabella. Leave her as you left me. It will cost you a +repentance less severe. The wounds you have inflicted may yet be healed. +The mischiefs you have caused are not yet irreparable. These fond arms +are open to receive you. To this unresentful bosom you may return in +safety. But remember, I intreat you, the opportunity will be of no long +duration. Every moment is winged with fate. A little more hesitation, +and the irrevocable knot is tied, and Spain will claim you for her own. +A little more delay, and this fond credulous heart, that yet exerts +itself in a few vain struggles, will rest in peace, will crumble into +dust, and no longer be sensible to the misery that devours it. Dear, +long expected moment, speed thy flight! To how many more calamitous days +must these eyes be witness? In how many more nights must they wander +through a material darkness, that is indeed meridian splendour, when +compared with the gloom in which my mind is involved? + +Do not imagine that I have been easily persuaded of the truth of your +infidelity. I have not indulged to levity and credulity. I have heaped +evidence upon evidence. I have resisted the proofs that offered on +every side, till I have become liable to the character of stupid and +insensible. Would it were possible for me to be deceived! But no, the +delusion is vanished. I doubt, I hesitate, no longer. All without is +certainty, and all within is unmingled wretchedness. + + * * * * * + +St. Julian, I once again resume my pen. I was willing you should be +acquainted with all the distress and softness of my heart. I was willing +to furnish you with every motive to redeem the character of a man, +before it were too late. Do not however think me incapable of a spirited +and a steady resolution. It were easy for me to address a letter to the +family of Aranda, I might describe to them all my wrong, and prevent +that dreaded union, the thought of which distresses me. My letter might +probably arrive before the mischief were irretrievable. It is not +likely that so illustrious a house, however they may have previously +condescended to the speciousness of your qualities, would persist in +their design in the face of so cogent objections. But I am not capable +of so weak and poor spirited a revenge. + +Return, my lord, yet return to her you have deserted. Let your return be +voluntary, and it shall be welcome as the light of day to these sad and +weeping eyes, and it shall be dear and precious to my soul, as the ruddy +drops that warm my heart. But I will not force an unwilling victim. Such +a prize would be unworthy of the artless and constant spirit of Matilda. +Such a husband would be the bane of my peace, and the curse of my +hapless days. That he were the once loved St. Julian, would but +aggravate the distress, and rankle the arrow. It would continually +remind me of the dear prospects, and the fond expectations I had once +formed, without having the smallest tendency to gratify them. + + + +Letter XIII + +_The Marquis of Pescara to the Marquis of San Severino_ + +_Cosenza_ + +My dear lord, + +Why is it that a heart feeble and unheroic as mine, should be destined +to encounter so many temptations? I might have passed through the +world honourable and immaculate, had circumstances been a little more +propitious. As it is, I shall probably descend to the grave with a +character, at least among the scrupulous and the honest, reproachful and +scandalous. Now this I can never account for. My heart is a stranger to +all the dark and malignant passions. I am not cursed with an unbounded +ambition. I am a stranger to inexorable hate and fell revenge. I aim at +happiness and gratification. But if it were in my power I would have all +my fellow-creatures happy as myself. + +Why is the fair Matilda so incomparably beautiful and so inexpressibly +attractive? Had her temper been less sweet and undesigning, had her +understanding been less delicate and refined, had not the graces dwelt +upon those pouting lips, my heart had been sound and unhurt to this +very hour. But to see her every day, to converse with her at all +opportunities, to be regarded by her as her only friend and chosen +protector, tell me, ye gods, what heart, that was not perfectly +invulnerable, that was not totally impregnated with the waters of the +Styx, could have come off victorious from trials like these? + +And yet, my dear Ferdinand, to see the distress of the lovely Matilda, +to see her bosom heave with anguish, and her eyes suffused with tears, +to hear the heart-rending sighs continually bursting from her, in spite +of the fancied resolution, and the sweet pride that fill her soul, how +callous, how void of feeling and sympathy ought the man to be, in whom +objects like these can call up no relentings? Ah, my lord, when I +observe how her tender frame is shaken with misfortune, I am sometimes +ready to apprehend that it totters to its fall, that it is impossible +she should survive the struggling, tumultuous passions that rage within +her. What a glorious prize would then be lost? What would then become +of all the deep contrivances, the mighty politics, that your friendship +suggested? + +And yet, so wayward is my fate, those very objects which might be +expected to awaken the sincerest penitence and regret, now only serve to +give new strength to the passion that devours me, and to make my flame +surmount every obstacle that can oppose its progress. Yes, Matilda, +thou must be mine. Heaven and earth cannot now overturn the irrevocable +decree. It has been the incessant object of my attention to throw in +those artful baits which might best divert the current of her soul. I +have assiduously inflamed her resentment to the highest pitch, and I +flatter myself that I have made some progress towards the concluding +stroke. + +There is no situation in which we stand in greater need of sympathy and +consolation, than in those moments of forlornness and desertion to which +the poor Matilda imagines herself reduced. At these times my friendship +has been most unwearied in its exertions. I have answered sigh with +sigh, and mingled my tears with those of the lovely mourner. Believe me, +Ferdinand, this has not been entirely affectation and hypocrisy. There +is a vein of sensibility in the human heart, that will not permit us to +behold an artless and an innocent distress, at least when surrounded +with all the charms of beauty, without feeling our souls involuntarily +dilated, and our eyes unexpectedly swimming in tears. + +But I have another source of disquietude which is unaccompanied with any +alleviating circumstances. A letter from the count de St. Julian to his +Matilda has just been conveyed to my hands. It is filled with the most +affecting and tender complaints of her silence that can possibly be +imagined. He has too exalted a notion of the fair charmer to attribute +this to lightness and inconstancy. His inventive fancy conjures up a +thousand horrid phantoms, and surrounds the mistress of his soul with +I know not what imaginary calamities. But that passage of the whole +epistle that overwhelms me most, is one, in which, in spite of all the +anguish of his mind, in spite of appearances, he expresses the most +unsuspecting confidence in his false and treacherous friend. He still +recommends me to his Matilda as her best protector and surest guardian. +Ah, my St. Julian, how didst thou deserve to be cursed with an +associate, hollow and deceitful as Rinaldo? + +Yes, marquis, in spite of all the arguments you have alledged to me upon +the subject, I still regard my first and youthful friend, as the most +exalted and the foremost of human beings. You may talk of pride, vanity, +and stoicism, the heart that listens to the imputation feels its +sophistry. It is not vanity, for his virtuous actions are rather +studiously hid from observation, than ostentatiously displayed. Is it +pride? It is a pride that constitutes the truest dignity. It is a pride +worthy of heroes and of gods. What analogy does it bear with the pride +of avarice, and the pride of rank; how is it similar to the haughty +meanness of patronage, and the insatiable cravings of ambition? + +But I must not indulge to reflexions like these. It is to no purpose for +the disinterested tenderness, the unstoical affection of my St. Julian +to start up in array before me. Hence remorse, and all her kindred +passions! I am cruel, obdurate, and unrelenting. Yes, most amiable of +men, you might as well address your cries to the senseless rocks. You +might as well hope with your eloquent and soft complainings to persuade +the crocodile that was ready to devour you. I have passed the Rubicon. +I have taken the irrevocable step. It is too late, ah, much too late to +retreat! + + + +Letter XIV + +_The Marquis of San Severino to the Marquis of Pescara_ + +_Naples_ + +Joy, uninterrupted, immortal joy to my dear Rinaldo. May all your days +be winged with triumph, and all your nights be rapture. Believe me, I +feel the sincerest congratulation upon the desired event of your long +expected marriage. My lord, you have completed an action that deserves +to be recorded in eternal brass. Why should politics be confined to the +negotiations of ambassadors, and the cabinets of princes? I have often +revolved the question, and by all that is sacred I can see no reason for +it. Is it natural that the unanimating and phlegmatic transactions of +a court should engage a more unwearied attention, awaken a brighter +invention, or incite a more arduous pursuit than those of love? When +beauty solicits the appetite, when the most ravishing tenderness and +susceptibility attract the affections, it is then that the heart is most +distracted and regardless, and the head least fertile in artifice and +stratagem. + +My joy is the more sincere, as I was compelled repeatedly to doubt of +your perseverance. What sense was there in that boyish remorse, and +those idle self-reproaches, in which you frequently employed yourself? +No, Rinaldo, a man ought never to enter upon an heroical and arduous +undertaking without being perfectly composed, and absolutely sure of +himself. What a pitiful figure would my friend have made, had he stopped +in the midway, and let go the angelic prize when it was already within +his grasp? If it had not been for my repeated exhortations, if I had +not watched over you like your guardian genius, would you have been now +flushed with success, and crowned with unfading laurel? + + + +Letter XV + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_ + + +_Livorno_ + +My lord, + +I hoped before this time to have presented before you the form of +that injured friend, which, if your heart is not yet callous to every +impression, must be more blasting to your sight, than all the chimeras +that can be conjured up by a terrified imagination, or a guilty +conscience. I no sooner received the accursed intelligence at Zamora, +than I flew with the speed of lightning. I permitted no consideration +upon earth to delay me till I arrived at Alicant. But the sea was less +favourable to the impatience of my spirit. I set sail in a boisterous +and unpromising season. I have been long tossed about at the mercy of +the ocean. I thank God, after having a thousand times despaired of it, +that I have at length set foot in a port of Italy. It is distant +indeed, but the ardour of my purpose were sufficient to cut short all +intermission. + +My lord, I trusted you as my own soul. No consideration could have moved +me to entertain a moment's suspicion of your fidelity. I placed in your +hand the most important pledge it ever was my fortune to possess. I +employed no guard. I opened to you an unsuspecting bosom, and you have +stung me to the heart. I gave you the widest opportunity, and it is +through my weak and groundless confidence that you have reached me. You +have employed without scruple all those advantages it put into your +hands. You have undermined me at your ease. I left you to protect my +life's blood, my heart of heart, from every attack, to preserve the +singleness of her affections, and the constancy of her attachment. It +was yours to have breathed into her ear the sighs of St. Julian. It was +yours ambitiously to expatiate upon his amiable qualities. You were +every day to have added fuel to the flame. You were to have presented +Matilda to my arms, more beautiful, more tender, more kind, than she had +ever appeared. From this moment then, let the name of trust be a by-word +for the profligate to scoff at! Let the epithet of friend be a mildew to +the chaste and uncorrupted ear! Let mutual confidence be banished from +the earth, and men, more savage than the brute, devour each other! + +Was it possible, my lord, that you should dream, that the benefits you +had formerly conferred upon me, could deprive my resentment of all its +sting under the present provocation! If you did, believe me, you were +most egregiously mistaken. It is true I owed you much, and heaven +has not cursed me with a heart of steel. What bounds did I set to my +gratitude? I left my natal shore, I braved all the dangers of the ocean, +I fought in foreign climes the power of requital. I fondly imagined that +I could never discharge so vast obligations. But the invention of your +lordship is more fertile than mine. You have found the means to blot +them in a moment. Yes, my lord, from henceforth all contract between +us is canceled. You have set us right upon our first foundations. +Friendship, affection, pity, I give you to the winds! Come to my bosom, +unmixed malignity, black-boiling revenge! You are now the only inmates +welcome to my heart. + +Oh, Rinaldo, that character once so dear to me, that youth over whose +opening inclinations I watched with so unremitting care, is it you that +are the author of so severe a misfortune? I held you to my breast. I +poured upon your head all that magazine of affection and tenderness, +with which heaven had dowered me. Never did one man so ardently love +another. Never did one man interest himself so much in another's truth +and virtue, in another's peace and happiness. I formed you for heroism. +I cultivated those features in your character which might have made +you an ornament to your country and mankind. I strewed your path with +flowers, I made the couch beneath you violets and roses. Hear me, yet +hear me! Learn to perceive all the magnitude of your crime. You have +murdered your friend. You have wounded him in the tenderest part. You +have seduced the purest innocence and the most unexampled truth. For +is it possible that Matilda, erewhile the pattern of every spotless +excellence, could have been a party in the black design? + +But it is no longer time for the mildness of censure and the sobriety of +reproach. I would utter myself in the fierce and unqualified language of +invective. You have sinned beyond redemption. I would speak daggers. +I would wring blood from your heart at every word. But no; I will not +waste myself in angry words. I will not indulge to the bitterness of +opprobrium. Nothing but the anguish of my soul should have wrung from +me these solitary lines. Nothing but the fear of not surviving to my +revenge, should have prevented me from forestalling them in person.--I +will meet thee at Cerenzo. + + + +Letter XVI + +_The Marquis of San Severino to the Marchioness of Pescara_ + +_Cerenzo_ + +Madam, + +I am truly sorry that it falls to my lot to communicate to you the +distressing tidings with which it is perfectly necessary you should be +acquainted. The marquis, your husband, and my most dear friend, has +this morning fallen in a duel at this place. I am afraid it will be no +alleviation of the unfortunate intelligence, if I add, that the hand by +which he fell, was that of the count de St. Julian. + +His lordship left Cosenza, I understand, with the declared intention of +honouring me with a visit at Naples. He accordingly arrived at my palace +in the evening of the second day after he left you. He there laid before +me a letter he had received from the count, from which it appeared that +the misunderstanding was owing to a rivalship of no recent date in the +affections of your ladyship. It is not my business to enter into the +merits of the dispute. You, madam, are doubtless too well acquainted +with the laws of modern honour, pernicious in many instances, and which +have proved so fatal to the valuable life of the marquis, not to know +that the intended rencounter, circumstanced as it was, could not +possibly have been prevented. + +As we were informed that the count de St. Julian was detained by +sickness at Livorno, we continued two days longer at Naples before we +set out for our place of destination at Cerenzo. We arrived there on the +evening of the twenty-third, and the count de St. Julian the next day +at noon. We were soon after waited upon in form by signor Hippolito +Borelli, who had been a fellow student with each of these young noblemen +at the university of Palermo. He requested an interview with me, and +informing me that he attended the count in quality of second, we began +to adjust those minutiae, which are usually referred to the decision of +those who exercise that character. + +The count and the marquis had fixed their quarters at the two principal +hotels of this place. Of consequence there was no sort of intercourse +between them during the remainder of the day. In the evening we were +attended by the baron of St. Angelo, who had heard by chance of our +arrival. We spent the remainder of the day in much gaiety, and I +never saw the marquis of Pescara exert himself more, or display more +collectedness and humour, than upon this occasion. After we separated, +however, he appeared melancholy and exhausted. He was fatigued with the +repeated journies he had performed, and after having walked up and down +the room, for some time, in profound thought, he retired pretty early to +his chamber. + +The next day at six in the morning we repaired according to appointment +to the ramparts. We found the count de St. Julian and his friend arrived +before us. As we approached, the marquis made a slight congee to the +count, which was not returned by the other. "My lord," cried the +marquis,--"Stop," replied his antagonist, in a severe and impatient +tone. "This is no time for discussions. It was not that purpose that +brought me hither." My lord of Pescara appeared somewhat hurt at so +peremptory and unceremonious a rejoinder, but presently recovered +himself. Each party then took his ground, and they fired their pistols +without any other effect, than the shoulder of the count being somewhat +grazed by one of the balls. + +Signor Borelli and myself now interposed, and endeavoured to compromise +the affair. Our attempt however presently appeared perfectly fruitless. +Both parties were determined to proceed to further action. The marquis, +who at first had been perfectly calm, was now too impatient and eager to +admit of a moment's delay. The count, who had then appeared agitated and +disturbed, now assumed a collected air, a ferociousness and intrepidity, +which, though it seemed to wait an opportunity of displaying itself, was +deaf as the winds, and immoveable as the roots of Vesuvius. + +They now drew their swords. The passes of both were for some time +rendered ineffectual. But at length the marquis, from the ardour of his +temper seemed to lay aside his guard, and the count de St. Julian, by +a sudden thrust, run his antagonist through the body. The marquis +immediately fell, and having uttered one groan, he expired. The sword +entered at the left breast, and proceeded immediately to the heart. + +The count, instead of appearing at all disturbed at this event, or +attempting to embrace the opportunity of flight, advanced immediately +towards the body, and bending over it, seemed to survey its traits with +the profoundest attention. The surgeon who had attended, came up at +this instant, but presently perceived that his art was become totally +useless. During however this short examination, the count de St. Julian +recovered from his reverie, and addressing himself to me, "My lord," +said he, "I shall not attempt to fly from the laws of my country. I am +indeed the challenger, but I have done nothing, but upon the matures! +deliberation, and I shall at all times be ready to answer my conduct." +Though I considered this mode of proceeding as extremely singular I did +not however think it became me, as the friend of the marquis of Pescara, +to oppose his resolution. He has accordingly entered into a recognizance +before the gonfaloniere, to appear at a proper time to take his trial at +the city of Naples. + +Madam, I thought it my duty to be thus minute in relating the +particulars of this unfortunate affair. I shall not descend to any +animadversions upon the conduct and language of the count de St. Julian. +They will come to be examined and decided upon in a proper place. In the +mean time permit me to offer my sincerest condolences upon the loss you +have sustained in the death of my amiable friend. If it be in my power +to be of service to your ladyship, with respect to the funeral, or any +other incidental affairs, you may believe that I shall account it my +greatest honour to alleviate in any degree the misfortune you have +suffered. With the sincerest wishes for the welfare of yourself and your +amiable son, I have the honour to be, + +Madam, + +Your most obedient and very faithful servant, + +The marquis of San Severino. + + + +Letter XVII + +_The Answer_ + + +_Cosenza_ + +My lord, + +You were not mistaken when you supposed that the subject of your +letter would both afflict and surprize me in the extremest degree. The +unfortunate event to which it principally relates, is such as cannot but +affect me nearly. And separate from this, there is a veil of mystery +that hangs over the horrid tale, behind which I dare not pry, but with +the most trembling anxiety, but which will probably in a very short time +be totally removed. + +Your lordship, I am afraid, is but too well acquainted with the history +of the correspondence between myself and my deceased lord. I was given +to understand that the count de St. Julian was married to the daughter +of the duke of Aranda. I thought I had but too decisive evidence of the +veracity of the story. And you, my lord, I remember, were one of the +witnesses by which it was confirmed. Yet how is this to be reconciled +with the present catastrophe? Can I suppose that the count, after being +settled in Spain, should have deserted these connexions, in order +to come over again to that country in which he had forfeited all +pretensions to character and reputation, and to commence a quarrel so +unjust and absurd, with the man to whom he was bound by so numerous +obligations? + +My lord, I have revolved all the circumstances that are communicated +to me in your alarming letter. The oftener I peruse it, and the more +maturely I consider them, the more does it appear that the count de St. +Julian has all the manners of conscious innocence and injured truth. It +is impossible for an impostor to have acted throughout with an air so +intrepid and superior. Your lordship's account, so far as it relates to +the marquis, is probably the account of a friend, but it is impossible +not to perceive, that his behaviour derives no advantage from being +contrasted with that of his antagonist. + +You will readily believe, that it has cost me many efforts to assemble +all these thoughts, and to deliver these reasonings in so connected a +manner. At first my prejudices against the poor and unprotected stranger +were so deeply rooted, that I had no suspicion of their injustice. I +regarded the whole as a dream; I considered every circumstance as beyond +the cognizance of reason, and founded entirely in madness and frenzy. +I painted to myself the count de St. Julian, whom I had known for a +character so tender and sincere, as urged along with all the stings of +guilt, and agitated with all the furies of remorse. I at once pitied his +sufferings, and lamented their mortal and destructive consequences. I +regarded yourself and every person concerned in the melancholy affair, +as actuated by the same irrational spirit, and united to overwhelm one +poor, trembling, and defenceless woman. + +But the delusion was of no long continuance. I soon perceived that it +was impossible for a maniac to be suffered to proceed to so horrid +extremities. I perceived in every thing that related to the count, +a spirit very different from that of frenzy. It is thus that I have +plunged from uncertainty to uncertainty. From adopting a solution wild +and absurd, I am thrown back upon a darkness still more fearful, and am +lost in conjectures of the most tremendous nature. + +And where is it that I am obliged to refer my timid enquiries? Alas, I +have no friend upon whose bosom to support myself, I have no relation to +interest in my cause. I am forlorn, forsaken and desolate. By nature +not formed for defence, not braced to encounter the storms of calamity, +where shall I hide my unprotected head? Forgive me, my lord, if I am +mistaken; pardon the ravings of a distracted mind. It is possible I am +obliged to recur to him from whom all my misfortunes took their source, +who has guided unseen all those movements to which this poor and broken +heart is the sacrifice. Perhaps the words that now flow from my pen, +are directed to the disturber of my peace, the interceptor of all that +happiness most congenial to my heart, the murderer of my husband! + +Where, in the mean time, where is this countess, this dreaded rival? +You, my lord, have perhaps ere this time seen her. Tell me, what are +those ineffable charms that seduced a heart which was once so constant? +St. Julian was never mercenary, and I have a fortune that might have +filled out his most unbounded wishes. What is that strange fascination, +what that indescribable enchantment, that sunk a character so glorious, +that libertines venerated, and the friends of virtue adored, to a depth +so low and irretrievable? I have thought much of it, I have turned it +every way in my mind, but I can never understand it. The more I reflect +the further I am bewildered. + +But whither am I wandering? What strange passion is it, that I so +carefully suppressed, over which I so loudly triumphed, that now bursts +its limits? How fatal and deplorable is that train of circumstances, +that brings a name, that was once inscribed on my heart, to my +remembrance, accompanied with attendants, that awaken all my tenderness, +and breathe new life into each forgotten endearment! Is it for me, a +wife, a mother, to entertain these guilty thoughts? And can they respect +him by whose fatal hand my husband fell? How low is the once spotless +Matilda della Colonna sunk! + +But I will not give way to this dereliction and despair. I think my +heart is not made of impenetrable stuff. I think I cannot long survive +afflictions thus complicated, and trials thus severe. But so long as I +remain in this world of calamity, I will endeavour to act in a manner +not unworthy of myself. I will not disgrace the race from which I +sprung. Whatever others may do, I will not dishonour the family to which +I am united. I may be miserable, but I will not be guilty. I may be a +monument of anguish, but I will not be an example of degeneracy. + +Gracious heaven! if I have been deceived, what a train of artifice and +fraud rushes upon my terrified recollection? How carefully have all my +passions, in the unguarded hour of anguish and misery, been wrought and +played upon? All the feelings of a simple and undissembling mind have +been roused by turns, to excite me to a deed, from which rectitude +starts back with horror, which integrity blushes to look on! And have I +been this poor and abject tool in the hand of villains? And are there +hearts cool and obdurate enough, to watch all the trembling starts of +wretchedness, to seduce the heart that has given itself up to despair? +Can they look on with frigid insensibility, can they behold distress +with no other eye but that of interest, with no other watch but that +which discovers how it may be disgraced for ever? Oh, wretched Matilda! +whither, whither hast thou been plunged! + +My memory is up in arms. I cannot now imagine how I was induced to +so decisive and adventurous a step. But I was full of the anguish of +disappointment, and the resentment of despair. How assiduously was I +comforted? What sympathy, what angelic tenderness seemed to flow from +the lips of him, in whose heart perhaps there dwelt every dishonourable +and unsated passion? It was all a chaos. My heart was tumultuous hurry, +without leisure for retrospect, without a moment for deliberation. And +do I dare to excuse myself? Was I not guilty, unpardonably guilty? Oh, +a mind that knew St. Julian should have waited for ages, should have +revolved every circumstance a thousand times, should have disbelieved +even the evidence of sense, and the demonstration of eternal truth! +Accursed precipitation! Most wicked speed! No, I have not suffered half +what I have deserved. Heap horrors on me, thou dreadful dispenser of +avenging providence! I will not complain. I will expire in the midst of +agonies without a groan! + +But these thoughts must be banished from my heart for ever. Wretched as +I am, I am not permitted the consolation of penitence, I am not free to +accuse and torment myself. No, that step has been taken which can never +be repealed. The marquis of Pescara was my husband, and whatever were +his true character, I will not crush his memory and his fame. I have, +I fear, unadvisedly entered into connexions, and entailed upon myself +duties. But these connexions shall now be sacred; these duties shall be +discharged to the minutest tittle. Oh, poor and unprotected orphan, thou +art cast upon the world without a friend! But thou shalt never want the +assiduity of a mother. Thou, at least, are guileless and innocent. +Thou shalt be my only companion. To watch over thee shall be the sole +amusement that Matilda will henceforth indulge herself. That thou wilt +remind me of my errors, that I shall trace in thee gradually as thy +years advance, the features of him to whom my unfortunate life owed all +its colour, will but make thee a more proper companion, an object more +congenial to the sorrows of my soul. + + + +Letter XVIII + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marchioness of Pescara + +Cerenzo_ + +Madam, + +You may possibly before this letter comes to your hands have learned an +event that very nearly interests both you and me. If you have not, it is +not in my power at this time to collect together the circumstances, and +reduce them to the form of a narration. The design of my present letter +is of a very different kind. Shall I call that a design, which is the +consequence of an impulse urging me forward, without the consent of my +will, and without time for deliberation? + +I write this letter with a hand dyed with the blood of your husband. Let +not the idea startle you. Matilda is advanced too far to be frightened +with bugbears. What, shall a mind inured to fickleness and levity, +a mind that deserted, without reason and without remorse, the most +constant of lovers, and that recked not the consequences, shall such a +mind be terrified at the sight of the purple blood, or be moved from its +horrid tranquility by all the tragedies that an universe can furnish? + +Matilda, I have slain your husband, and I glory in the deed. I will +answer it in the face of day. I will defy that man to come forward, +and when he views the goary, lifeless corse, say to me with a tone of +firmness and conviction, "Thou hast done wrong." + +And now I have but one business more with life. It is to arraign the +fair and traiterous author of all my misfortunes. Start not at the black +catalogue. Flinch not from the detail of infernal mischief. The mind +that knows how to perpetrate an action, should know how to hear the +story of it repeated, and to answer it in all its circumstances. + +Matilda, I loved you. Alas, this is to say little! All my thoughts had +you for their centre. I was your slave. With you I could encounter +tenfold calamity, and call it happiness. Banished from you, the world +was a colourless and confused chaos. One moment of displeasure, one +interval of ambiguous silence crouded my imagination with every frantic +apprehension. One smile, one word of soft and soothing composition, fell +upon my soul like odoriferous balm, was a dulcet and harmonious sound, +that soothed my anguish into peace, that turned the tempest within me +to that still and lifeless calm, where not a breath disturbs the vast +serene. + +And this is the passion you have violated. You have trampled upon a +lover, who would have sacrificed his life to save that tender and +enchanting frame from the impression of a thorn. And yet, Matilda, if +it had been only a common levity, I would have pardoned it. If you had +given your hand to the first chance comer, I would have drenched the cup +of woe in solitude and darkness. Not one complaint from me should have +reached your ear. If you could have found tranquility and contentment, I +would not have been the avenging angel to blast your prospects. + +But there are provocations that the human heart cannot withstand. I did +not come from the hand of nature callous and intrepid, I was the stoic +of philosophy and reason. To lose my mistress and my friend at once. To +lose them!--Oh, ten thousand deaths would have been mercy to the loss! +Had they been tossed by tempests, had they been torn from my eyes by +whirlwinds, I would have viewed the scene with eye-balls of stiffened +horn. But to find all that upon which I had placed my confidence, upon +which I rested my weary heart, foul and false at once: to have those +bosoms, in which I fondly thought I reigned adored, combined in one +damned plot to overwhelm and ruin me--Indeed, Matilda, it was too much! + +Well, well. Be at peace my soul. I have taken my revenge. But revenge is +not a passion congenial to the spirit of St. Julian. It was once soft +and tender as a babe. You might have bended and moulded it into what +form you pleased. But I know not how it is, it is now remorseless and +unfeeling as a rock. I have swam in horror, and I am not satiated. +I could hear tales of distress, and I could laugh at their fancied +miseries. I could view all the tragedies of battle, and walk up and down +amidst seas of blood with tranquility. It is well. I did not think I +could have done all this. But inexplicable and almighty providence +strengthens, indurates the heart for the scenes of detestation to which +it is destined. + +And is it Rinaldo that I have slain? That friend that I held a thousand +times to my bosom, that friend over whose interests I have watched +without weariness? Many a time have I dropped the tear of oblivion over +his youthful wanderings. I exulted in the fruits of all my toil. Yes, +Matilda, I have seen the drops of sacred pity bedew his cheek. I have +seen his bosom heave with generous resentment, and heroic resolution. +Oh, there was a time, when the author of nature might have looked down +upon his work, and said, "This is a man." What benefits did not I +receive from his munificent character, and wide extended hand? + +And who made me his judge and his avenger? What right had I to thrust my +sword into his heart? He now lies a lifeless corse. Upon his breast +I see the gaping and death-giving wound. The blood bursts forth in +continued streams. His hair is clotted with it. That cheek, that lately +glowed, is now pale and sallow. All his features are deformed. The fire +in his eye is extinguished for ever. Who has done this? What wanton and +sacrilegious hand has dared deface the work of God? It could not be his +preceptor, the man upon whom he heaped a thousand benefits? It could not +be his friend? Oh, Rinaldo, all thy errors lie buried in the damp and +chilly tomb, but thy blood shall for ever rise to accuse me! + + + +Letter XIX + +_The Marquis of San Severino to the Marchioness of Pescara + +Naples_ + +Madam, + +I have just received a letter from your ladyship which gives me the +utmost pain. I am sincerely afflicted at the unfortunate concern I have +had in the melancholy affairs that have caused you so much uneasiness. I +expected indeed that the sudden death of so accomplished and illustrious +a character as your late husband, must have produced in a breast +susceptible as yours, the extremest distress. But I did not imagine that +you would have been so overwhelmed with the event, as to have forgotten +the decorums of your station, and to have derogated from the dignity of +your character. Madam, I sincerely sympathize in the violence of +your affliction, and I earnestly wish that you may soon recover that +self-command, which rendered your behaviour upon all occasions a model +of elegance, propriety and honour. + +Your ladyship proposes certain questions to me in your epistle of a very +singular nature. You will please to remember, that they will for the +most part be brought in a few days before a court of judicature. I must +therefore with all humility intreat you to excuse me from giving them a +direct answer. There would be an impropriety in a person, so illustrious +in rank, and whose voice is of considerable weight in the state, +forestalling the inferior courts upon these subjects. One thing however +I am at liberty to mention, and your ladyship may be assured, that in +any thing in my power I should place my highest felicity in gratifying +you. There was indeed some misinformation upon the subject; but I have +now the honour to inform you from authority upon which I depend, that +the count de St. Julian is now, and has always remained single. I +believe there never was any negociation of marriage between him and the +noble house of Aranda. + +Madam, it gives me much uneasiness, that your ladyship should entertain +the smallest suspicion of any impropriety in my behaviour in these +affairs. I believe the conduct of no man has been more strictly +conformed, in all instances, to the laws of decorum than my own. Objects +of no small magnitude, have upon various occasions passed under my +inspection, and you will be so obliging as to believe that upon no +occasion has my veracity been questioned, or the integrity of my +character suffered the smallest imputation. The rectitude of my actions +is immaculate, and my honour has been repeatedly asserted with my sword. + +Your ladyship will do me the favour to believe, that though I cannot +but regard your suspicions as equally cruel and unjust, I shall never +entertain the smallest resentment upon their account. I have the honour +to be, with all possible deference and esteem, + +Madam, + +Your ladyship's most faithful servant, + +The marquis of San Severino. + + + +Letter XX + +_The Count de St. Julian to Signor Hippolito Borelli + +Leontini_ + +My dear friend, + +Travelling through the various countries of Europe, and expanding your +philosophical mind to embrace the interests of mankind, you still are +so obliging as to take the same concern in the transactions of your +youthful friend as ever. I shall therefore confine myself in the letter +which I now steal the leisure to write, to the relation of those events, +of which you are probably as yet uninformed. If I were to give scope to +the feelings of my heart, with what, alas, should I present you but a +circle of repetitions, which, however important they may appear to +me, could not but be dull and tedious to any person less immediately +interested? + +As I pursued with greater minuteness the enquiries I had begun before +you quitted the kingdom of the two Sicilies, I found the arguments still +increasing upon me, which tended to persuade me of the innocence of +Matilda. Oh, my friend, what a letter did I address to her in the height +of my frenzy and despair? Every word spoke daggers, and that in a moment +when the tragical event of which I was the author, must naturally have +overwhelmed her with astonishment and agony. Yes, Hippolito, this action +must remain an eternal blot upon my character. Years of penitence could +not efface it, floods of tears could not wash it away. + +But before I had satisfied my curiosity in this pursuit, the time +approached in which it was necessary for me to take a public trial at +Naples. This scene was to me a solemn one. The blood of my friend sat +heavy at my heart. It is true no provocation could have been more +complicated than that I had received. Take it from me, Hippolito, as my +most mature and serious determination, that a Gothic revenge is beneath +the dignity of a man. It did not become me, who had aimed at the +character of unaccommodating virtue, to appear in defence of an action +that my heart disallowed. To stand forward before the delegated power of +my country with the stain of blood upon me, was not a scene for a man of +sensibility to act in. But the decision of my judges was more indulgent +than the verdict of my own mind. + +One of the persons who was most conspicuous upon this occasion, was the +marquis of San Severino. Hippolito, it is true, I have been hurried into +many actions that have caused me the severest regret. But I would not +for ten thousand worlds have that load of guilt upon my mind, that this +man has to answer for. And yet he bore his head aloft. He was placid and +serene. He was even disengaged and gay. He talked in as round a tone, +of honour and integrity, of veracity and virtue, as if his life were +spotless, and his heart immaculate. The circumstances however that +came out in the progress of the affair, were in the highest degree +disadvantageous to him. The general indignation and hatred seemed +gradually to swell against him, like the expansive surges of the ocean. +A murmur of disapprobation was heard from every side, proceeded from +every mouth. Even this accomplished villain at length hung his head. +When the court was dissolved, he was encountered with hisses and scorn +from the very lowest of the people. It was only by the most decisive +exertions of the guards of the palace, that he was saved from being torn +to pieces by the fury of the populace. + +You will be surprized to perceive that this letter is dated at the +residence of my fathers. Fourteen days ago I was summoned hither by the +particular request of my brother, who had been seized with a violent +epidemical distemper. It was extremely sudden in its operation, and +before I arrived he was no more. He had confessed however to one of the +friends of our house, before he expired, that he had forged the will of +my father, instigated by the surprize and disappointment he had felt, +when he understood that that father, whom he had employed so many +unjustifiable means to prepossess, had left his whole estate, exclusive +of a very small annuity, to his eldest son. Since I have been here, I +have been much employed in arranging the affairs of the family, which, +from the irregular and extemporary manner in which my brother lived, I +found in considerable disorder. + + + +Letter XXI + +_The Count de St. Julian to the Marchioness of Pescara_ + + +_Leontini_ + +Madam, + +I have waited with patience for the expiration of twelve months, that +I might not knowingly be guilty of any indecorum, or intrude upon that +sorrow, which the tragical fate of the late marquis so justly claimed. +But how shall I introduce the subject upon which I am now to address +you? Where shall I begin this letter? Or with what arguments may I best +propitiate the anger I have so justly incensed, and obtain that boon +upon which the happiness of my future life is so entirely suspended? + +Among all the offences of which I have been guilty, against the simplest +and gentlest mind that ever adorned this mortal stage, there is none +which I less pardon to myself, than that unjust and precipitate letter, +which I was so inconsiderate as to address to you immediately after I +had steeped my hand in the murder of your husband. Was it for me, who +had so much reason to be convinced of the innocence and disinterested +truth of Matilda, to harbour suspicions so black, or rather to affront +her with charges, the most hideous and infamous? What crime is +there more inexcusable, than that of attributing to virtue all the +concomitants of vice, of casting all those bitter taunts, all that +aggravated and triumphant opprobrium in the face of rectitude, that +ought to be reserved only for the most profligate of villains? Yes, +Matilda, I trampled at once upon the exemptions of your sex, upon +the sanctity of virtue, upon the most inoffensive and undesigning of +characters. And yet all this were little. + +What a time was it that I chose for an injury so atrocious! A beautiful +and most amiable woman had just been deprived, by an unforeseen event, +of that husband, with whom but a little before she had entered into the +most sacred engagements. The state of a widow is always an afflictive +and unprotected one. Rank does not soften, frequently aggravates the +calamity. A tragedy had just been acted, that rendered the name of +Matilda the butt of common fame, the subject of universal discussion. +How painful and humiliating must this situation have been to that +anxious and trembling mind; a mind whose highest ambition coveted only +the tranquility that reigns in the shade of retreat, the silence and +obscurity that the wisest of philosophers have asserted to be the most +valuable reputation of her sex? Such was the affliction, in which I +might then have known that the mistress of my heart was involved. + +But I have since learned a circumstance before which all other +aggravations of my inhumanity fade away. The moment that I chose for +wanton insult and groundless arraignment, was the very moment in which +Matilda discovered all the horrid train of hypocrisy and falsehood by +which she had been betrayed. What a shock must it have given to her +gentle and benevolent mind, that had never been conscious to one +vicious temptation, that had never indulged the most distant thought of +malignity, to have found herself surprized into a conduct, to the nature +of which she had been a stranger, and which her heart disavowed? Of all +the objects of compassion that the universe can furnish, there is none +more truly affecting, than that of an artless and unsuspecting mind +insnared by involuntary guilt. The astonishment with which it is +overwhelmed, is vast and unqualified. The remorse with which it +is tortured, are totally unprepared and unexpected, and have been +introduced by no previous gradation. It is true, the involuntarily +culpable may in some sense be pronounced wholly innocent. The guilty +mind is full of prompt excuses, and ready evasions, but the untainted +spirit, not inured to the sophistry of vice, cannot accommodate itself +with these subterfuges. If such be the state of vulgar minds involved +in this unfortunate situation, what must have been that of so soft and +inoffensive a spirit? + +Oh, Matilda, if tears could expiate such a crime, ere this I had been +clear as the guileless infant. If incessant and bitter reproaches could +overweigh a guilt of the first magnitude, mine had been obliterated. But +no; the words I wrote were words of blood. Each of them was a barbed +arrow pointed at the heart. There was no management, there was no +qualification. And when we add to this the object against which all my +injuries were directed, what punishment can be discovered sufficiently +severe? The mind that invented it, must have been callous beyond all +common hardness. The hand that wrote it must be accursed for ever. + +And yet, Matilda, it is not merely pardon that I seek. Even that would +be balm to my troubled spirit. It would somewhat soften the harsh +outlines, and the aggravated features of a crime, which I shall never, +never forgive to my own heart. But no, think, most amiable of women, of +the height of felicity I once had full in view, and excuse my present +presumption. While indeed my mind was guiltless, and my hand unstained +with blood, while I had not yet insulted the woman to whose affections I +aspired, nor awakened the anger of the gentlest nature, of a heart made +up of goodness, and tenderness and sympathy, I might have aspired with +somewhat less of arrogance. Neither your heart nor mine, Matilda, were +ever very susceptible to the capricious distinctions of fortune. + +But, alas, how hard is it for a mind naturally ambitious to mould and to +level itself to a state of degradation. Believe me, I have put forth an +hundred efforts, I have endeavoured to blot your memory from a soul, in +which it yet does, and ever will reign unrivalled. No, it is to fight +with impassive air, it is to lash the foaming tempest into a calm. Time, +which effaces all other impressions, increases that which is indelibly +written upon my heart. A man whose countenance is pale and wan, and who +every day approaches with hasty and unremitted strides to the tomb, may +forget his situation, may call up a sickly smile upon his countenance, +and lull his mind to lethargy and insensibility. Such, Matilda, is all +the peace reserved for me, if yet I have no power in influencing the +determinations of your mind. Stupidity, thou must be my happiness! +Torpor, I will bestow upon thee all the endearing names, that common +mortals give to rapture! + +And yet, Matilda, if I retain any of that acute sensibility to virtue +and to truth, in which I once prided myself, there can be no conduct +more proper to the heir of the illustrious house of Colonna, than that +which my heart demands. You have been misguided into folly. What is more +natural to an ingenuous heart, than to cast back the following scandal +upon the foul and detested authors, with whom the wrong originated. You +have done that, which if all your passions had been hushed into silence, +and the whole merits of the cause had lain before you, you would never +have done. What reparation, Matilda, does a clear and generous spirit +dictate, but that of honestly and fearlessly acknowledging the mistake, +treading back with readiness and haste the fatal path, and embracing +that line of conduct which a deliberate judgment, and an informed +understanding would always have dictated? + +Is it not true,--tell me, thou mistress of my soul,--that upon your +determination in this one instance all your future reputation is +suspended? Accept the hand of him that adores you, and the truth will +shine forth in all its native splendour, and none but the blind can +mistake it. Refuse him, and vulgar souls will for ever confound you +with the unfortunate Rinaldo, and his detested seducer. Fame, beloved +charmer, is not an object that virtuous souls despise. To brave the +tongue of slander cannot be natural to the gentle and timid spirit of +Matilda. + +But, oh, I dare not depend upon the precision of logic, and the +frigidity of argumentation. Let me endeavour to awaken the compassion +and humanity of your temper. Recollect all the innocent and ecstatic +endearments with which erewhile our hours were winged. Never was +sublunary happiness so pure and unmingled. It was tempered with the +mildest and most unbounded sympathy, it was refined and elevated with +all the sublimity of virtue. These happy, thrice happy days, you, and +only you, can recall. Speak but the word, and time shall reverse his +course, and a new order of things shall commence. Think how much virtue +depends upon your fiat. Satisfied with felicity ourselves, our hearts +will overflow with benevolence for the world. Never will misery pass us +unrelieved, never shall we remit the delightful task of seeking out the +modest and the oppressed in their obscure retreat. We will set mankind +an example of integrity and goodness. We will retrieve the original +honours of the wedded state. Methinks, I could rouze the most lethargic +and unanimated with my warning voice! Methinks, I could breathe a spirit +into the dead! Oh, Matilda, let me inspire ambition into your breast! +Let me teach that tender and right gentle heart, to glow with a mutual +enthusiasm! + + + + +Letter XXII + + +_The Answer_ + +_Cosenza_ + +My lord, It is now three weeks since I received that letter, in which +you renew the generous offer of your hand. Believe me, I am truly +sensible of the obligation, and it shall for ever live in my grateful +heart. I am not now the same Matilda you originally addressed. I have +acted towards you in an inexcusable manner. I have forfeited that +spotless character which was once my own. All this you knew, and all +this did not deter you. My lord, for this generosity and oblivion, once +again, and from the bottom of my heart, I thank you. + +But it is not only in these respects, that the marchioness of Pescara +differs from the daughter of the duke of Benevento. Those poor charms, +my lord, which were once ascribed to me, have long been no more. The +hand of grief is much more speedy and operative in its progress than the +icy hand of age. Its wrinkles are already visible in my brow. The floods +of tears I have shed have already furrowed my cheeks. But oh, my lord, +it is not grief; that is not the appellation it claims. They are the +pangs of remorse, they are the cries of never dying reproach with +which I am agitated. Think how this tarnishes the heart and blunts the +imagination. Think how this subdues all the aspirations of innocence, +and unnerves all the exertions of virtue. Perhaps I was, flattery and +friendship had at least taught me to think myself, something above the +common level. But indeed, my lord, I am now a gross and a vulgar soul. +All the nicer touches are fretted and worn away. All those little +distinctions, those minuter delicacies I might once possess are +obliterated. My heart is coarse and callous. Others, of the same +standard that I am now, may have the same confidence in themselves, the +same unconsciousness of a superior, as nature's most favoured children. +But I am continually humbled by the sense of what I was. + +These things, my lord, I mention as considerations that have some +weight with me, and ought perfectly to reconcile you to my unalterable +determination. But these, I will ingenuously confess, are not the +considerations that absolutely decide me. You cannot but sufficiently +recollect the title I bear, and the situation in which I am placed. The +duties of the marchioness of Pescara are very different from those by +which I was formerly bound. Does it become a woman of rank and condition +to fling dishonour upon the memory of him to whom she gave her hand, or, +as you have expressed it, to cast back the scandal to which she may be +exposed upon the author with whom it originated? No, my lord: I must +remember the family into which I have entered, and I will never give +them cause to curse the day upon which Matilda della Colonna was +numbered among them. What, a wife, a widow, to proclaim with her own +mouth her husband for a villain? You cannot think it. It were almost +enough to call forth the mouldering ashes from the cincture of the tomb. + +My lord, it would not become me to cast upon a name so virtuous and +venerable as yours, the whisper of a blame. I will not pretend to argue +with you the impropriety and offence of a Gothic revenge. But it is +necessary upon a subject so important as that which now employs my pen, +to be honest and explicit. It is not a time for compliment, it is not +a moment for disguise and fluctuation. Whatever were the merits of the +contest, I cannot forget that your hand is deformed with the blood of my +husband. My lord, you have my sincerest good wishes. I bear you none +of that ill will and covert revenge, that are equally the disgrace of +reason and Christianity. But you have placed an unsuperable barrier +between us. You have sunk a gulph, fathomless and immeasurable. For us +to meet, would not be more contrary to the factitious dignity of rank, +than shocking to the simple and unadulterated feelings of our nature. +The world, the general voice would cry shame upon it. Propriety, +decency, unchanged and eternal truth forbid it. + +Yet once more. I have a son. He is all the consolation and comfort that +is left me. To watch over his infancy is my most delightful, and most +virtuous task. I have filled the character, neither of a mistress, nor a +wife, in the manner my ambition aimed at. I have yet one part left, and +that perhaps the most venerable of all, the part of a mother. Excellent, +and exalted name! thee I will never disgrace! Not for one moment will I +forget thee, not in one iota shalt thou be betrayed! + +My lord, I write this letter in my favourite haunt, where indeed I pass +hour after hour in the only pleasure that is left me, the nursery of my +child. At this moment I cast my eyes upon him, and he answers me with +the most artless and unapprehensive smile in the world. No, beloved +infant! I will never injure thee! I will never be the author of thy +future anguish! He seems, St. Julian, to solicit, that I would love him +always, and behold him with an unaltered tenderness. Yes, my child, I +will be always thy mother. From that character I will never derogate. +That name shall never be lost in another, however splendid, or however +attractive. Were I to hear you, my lord, they would tear him from my +arms, and I should commend their justice. I should see him no more. +These eyes would no longer be refreshed with that artless and adorable +visage. I should no longer please myself with pouring the accents of +my sorrow into his unconscious ear. Obdurate, unfeeling, relentless, +unnatural mother! These would be the epithets by which I should best be +known. These would be the sentiments of every heart. This would be the +unbought voice, even of those vulgar souls, in which penury had most +narrowed the conceptions, and repressed the enthusiasm of virtue. It is +true, my lord, Matilda is sunk very low. The finger of scorn has pointed +at her, and the whisper of unfeeling curiosity respecting her, has run +from man to man. But yet it shall have its limits. My resolution is +unalterable. To this I will never come. + +My lord, among those arguments which you so well know how to urge, you +have told me, that the cause you plead, is the cause of benevolence +and charity. You say, that felicity would open our hearts, and teach our +bosoms to overflow. But surely this is not the general progress of the +human character. I had been taught to believe, and I hope I have found +it true, that misfortune softens the disposition, and bids compassion +take a deeper root. It shall be ever my aim, to make this improvement of +those wasting sorrows, with which heaven has seen fit to visit me. For +you, I am not to learn what is your generous and god like disposition. +My lord, I will confess a circumstance, for which I know not whether +I ought to blush. Animated by that sympathetic concern, which I once +innocently took in all that related to you, I have made the most minute +enquiries respecting your retreat at Leontini. I shall never be afraid, +that the man, whose name dwells in the sweetest accents upon the lips of +the distressed, and is the consolation and the solace of the helpless +and the orphan, will degenerate into hardness. Go on, my lord! You are +in the path of virtue. You are in the line that heaven chalked out for +you. You will be the ornament of humanity, and your country's boast to +the latest posterity. + +FINIS + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Italian Letters, Vols. I and II, by William Godwin + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ITALIAN LETTERS, VOLS. 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